


We Are All Hypocrites: Singing Songs of Summer

by CreativeBuzz



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Cheating, Childbirth, Established Relationship, F/M, Infidelity, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeBuzz/pseuds/CreativeBuzz
Summary: Nine months after the ski trip from hell, Betty and Archie prepare to welcome a new life into the world. Will questions of paternity tear apart this burgeoning family before they’ve even begun?
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper, Fred Andrews & Alice Cooper, Fred Andrews/Alice Cooper, Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	1. May Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> This sequel is essentially _WAAH: The Christmas Special_. There are three installments in total. They are already written and will be released today, tomorrow, and the next day. If possible, this year has only become more untenable. I’m sorry to anyone out there who is currently suffering. Perhaps I’m presumptuous in hoping this will help you in any way, but I sincerely hope it does. 
> 
> xx CreativeBuzz

**December 23 rd**

“You’ll need these.” Polly held up a pair of tiny socks. “They were Dagwood’s.”

“They’re blue,” said Alice.

“And?”

“And she’s having a girl.”

Betty sighed as she went to close up another box. All three of them knelt on the floor of the attic, rifling through Juniper and Dagwood’s baby things, searching for hand-me-downs. White light filtered through the sole circular window onto Betty’s unsteady hands. There was no heater in the attic and the cold did her no good. She was shaking. “You _think_ I’m having a girl—”

“I _know_.” Alice shrugged her shoulders. “Call it mother’s intuition.”

Polly caught Betty’s eye. “That’ll be a first…”

“Pink isn’t just for girls,” Betty said, cutting in before her mother could voice her opposition. “And blue isn’t just for boys.”

“Gender norms are only another shackle forced on us by society from birth. At the farm—”

Betty zoned out. Polly found some way to relate every topic of conversation back to the farm. Knowing her, she’d keep herself busy for the next five minutes. Brushing a set of cobwebs out of the way, Betty collected a small black box from the corner. It fit into the palm of her hand. She fingered its familiar edges, then popped open the cardboard top.

“ _Aw,_ ” Alice voiced. “Would you look at that?”

“What is it?” Polly asked, faintly annoyed to have been interrupted.

“It’s the corsage—It’s my corsage. From prom,” Betty answered, inspecting the now shriveled petals of the pink peony.

 _Creak._ “Sorry.”

When Betty glanced back, Archie stood underneath the door frame. He kept his gaze low, appearing unsure of whether or not to enter. 

“Come in, Archie. We’re just trying to find clothes for when the baby comes home.” Alice held up a pink onesie. “Can you believe this is too big?”

Archie smiled. “Unbelievable.”

“Do you need something?” Betty asked, turning her back on him.

“I was going to hang Christmas lights on the house. There weren’t any, though, when I went up to our attic. My dad said you might have extras up here.”

Betty shut the lid on the corsage. Perhaps, a bit too harshly. She desired to open the box again—see if she’d crushed any of the delicate petals—but resolved not to until he’d gone.

“They’re around here somewhere,” Alice said, pushing onto her feet. “You’re late, aren’t you? It’ll be two days before you take them down again.”

“I’ve been busy with work and… Haven’t really felt the _Christmas spirit._ ”

“Maybe if Elizabeth had returned home, she might’ve been able to help you hang them sooner—”

“ _Mom_ ,” said Betty.

“Here they are!” Her mother held up a clear bag of multi-colored bulbs attached by green plastic wire. “Do you need a ladder?”

“No.” Something had gone from his voice. “We have one.” He took the bag. “Thank you.”

“We’ll see you at dinner tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

A moment passed. He must’ve been lingering, because her mother said, lowly: “You’ll be late for work.”

“Yeah… I’ll see you.”

A heft of fabric fell across Betty’s back. When she glanced down, his knitted wool jacket was draped over her shoulders. The door was already closing when she finally glanced up.

* * *

**May 18 th**

“When’s the limo coming?”

“Eight-fifteen,” said Archie.

Fred checked his watch, then ambled over to the bottom of the staircase. “Five minutes, Alice!”

“Betty, wait. Try these ones. They’re diamond and they match your shoes—”

Betty emerged from the second-floor hallway wearing a floor-length dress the color of flushing cheeks. Her mother followed close behind, dangling a set of earrings next to her face. Archie caught the agitation in her gaze. Then, her eyes turned to his. The fleeting disdain dissipated—dried up like rain on pavement—only to be replaced by a raw tenderness which threatened to break his heart.

“You look beautiful, Elizabeth.” As she reached the bottom of the staircase, Fred took her hand to help her down.

“She would look even more beautiful if she would listen to me,” Alice said. “I really think these would go better with your—”

“ _Alright._ ” Betty fiddled to remove the pearl studs in her ears. “Fine.”

A satisfied grin ate Alice’s face. Outside the door, an abrasive _honk_ sounded.

“That’s them,” Archie said, venturing over. “We should go.”

“Not without my photo.” Alice waved her hand at Fred. “Honey, get the camera.”

Archie circumvented Alice to reach Betty. “Hello.”

“Hi.” She shook her head. “I can’t even drink tonight.”

Archie placed his arm around her waist and leaned over to speak directly into her ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you a good time.”

“Promise?”

“Face forward,” Alice commanded. “Big smiles!”

Archie squeezed her. “Promise.”

The flash of the camera momentarily blinded them.

“Perfect,” said Alice.

“Dad?” Archie gave his father a look.

“Oh, right.” Fred went into the living room and plucked the black box from the coffee table. “Here you are.”

Archie took the box from his father and faced Betty once more. “May I have your hand?”

“Of course.”

As he took her pale appendage in his, he lamented the smooth emptiness of her third left finger. He would need to work the entire summer to be able to afford the ring he’d set his eye upon in the corner shop on Downey Street— _Heavenly Trinkets_ —and he would. Gladly. She deserved as much.

When he opened the box, she sighed. “A peony… My favorite.”

“I know.” He slipped the flower onto her wrist, then brought her hand up to his lips. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

The _honk_ came again. This time, twice.

When they opened the door to leave, Jughead and Veronica were already leaning out of the limousine’s sunroof, basking in the twilight of late evening.

“Took you long enough!” Veronica said, waving them over.

Jughead took a swig of something which was surely _not water_ from a water bottle. “Come on!”

The two disappeared back inside the sleek black vehicle.

Archie glanced over at Betty. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Ready.”

* * *

“Order 22! _You’re up!_ ”

Pop Tate’s voice was coarse as gravel and warm as sunshine. Jughead’s fingers paused on the keyboard. He’d lost his train of thought.

“Thank you, Pop. Happy Holidays.”

For the first time in three hours, Jug allowed his gaze to lift from his laptop’s screen. “Veronica?”

Her head turned in one swift motion, like a raven’s. “Jughead?”

He felt his hackles raise. Veronica had a way of saying his name. “Ms. Lodge.”

“Mr. Jones.” Her heels _clicked_ on the checkered tile floor as she made her way over. Bundled in a white fur coat, leather gloves and a seasonally inappropriate tennis skirt—she appeared a femme fatale from a 1940s noir film. That, or a character straight out of _The Great Gatsby_. “How is it we live in the same city and yet only run into each other at home?”

She came to stand at the edge of the booth were he’d set up shop. 

Jughead considered the distance between Columbia and NYU. Only six miles. But then, six miles was different in the city. “Is this still your home?”

“Mother’s gone to Saint-Tropez for _rest_. Though I doubt she’s getting much rest with her boyfriend there…” Veronica arched an eyebrow and turned her gaze toward the floor. “Smithers is still here and he’s like a father to me.”

“I know.”

“What are you doing?” She leaned over to glance at his computer screen.

“Drafting.”

“Is this the one that gave me nightmares?”

“No.” Jughead smirked. “I finished that one. Sent it out to a few agents. Didn’t hear anything back.”

“Oh.”

“On to the next.”

“What’s this one about, then?” She slid herself onto the seat across from him.

“Are you staying?”

“Just for a while.” Veronica placed the oil-soaked takeout bag onto the tabletop. “Just to catch up.”

Jughead tried not to stare at her face. “ _Okay_ … It’s about a boy and his father.”

Veronica pursed her lips. “Archetypal. Tale as old as time. Do tell.” 

He shifted in his seat. “It’s a simple story. Different from what I usually write—”

“Oh, good,” she said. “That means I’ll like it.”

Her pleased little laugh evoked a begrudging smile from him.

“Can I read it?”

“It’s not finished,” he said.

“How much do you have?”

“First three chapters. Wait. What are you—?”

“Don’t worry.” She’d lifted his computer and was turning the screen to face her. “I’m a fast reader.”

* * *

The limo was slowing down.

“Are we there already?” Veronica leaned forward on her seat.

“Can’t be,” Archie replied. Northside High had booked a hotel in Glendale, which was forty-five minutes away. They’d only been riding for thirty.

“Then why is he stopping?”

The limousine had, indeed, rolled to a stop. Archie knocked on the tinted window divider. After a prolonged moment, the screen lowered.

“Sorry, guys. The engine’s being funny,” the driver said.

“Funny?” Veronica glanced around. “How is this remotely funny?”

“I’ll call the company and they’ll send another car.”

“How long will that take?” Archie asked.

“Less than an hour. Hopefully.”

Everyone in the car heaved a collective sigh.

“This evening is shaping up to be great,” Jughead drawled, tossing back another swig of vodka.

“Go easy, Jug.” Betty had been watching him, warily, since she entered the car.

He extended his hand with the bottle. “Or you could take the night off?”

Archie was still speaking with the driver. “I’m good with cars,” he said. “Mind if I take a look at the engine?”

The driver hummed. “I guess. Can’t let you touch anything, but…”

Archie opened the door on his side. “I’ll be right back.”

Once he was gone, Jughead offered Betty the bottle again. “Come on.”

“I’m not drinking tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to remember my prom?” Betty offered.

Without Archie in the car, the atmosphere changed. Grew _thin_. The truth was: They hadn’t been a foursome since Mississippi. Less than a celebration—tonight was a _formality_. An obligation, etched in stone their freshman year, they were all simply carrying out because _why not?_ Even though a gulf had stretched between them and was only growing wider; compounded by Betty and Archie’s married status and the secret child she harbored.

“Give it to me,” Veronica said. “If we’re going to be late, we might as well be adequately buzzed. _Santé._ ” She took the bottle, swallowed a gulp, squeezed her eyes shut. “What is this?”

“Who knows? Found it under the kitchen sink,” Jughead mumbled.

“Jug… Is your dad back drinking again?” Betty’s brows furrowed.

“I don’t know what he does.” He wouldn’t meet her eye. “I don’t ask.”

“Not to be, like, _shallow_ or whatever, but this conversation topic is way too heavy. Tonight is about—” Veronica hiccupped. “Having fun. Making memories. Spending—”

“Four hours listening to hits from the 2010s and eating dry chicken?”

“ _Spending_ _time together._ ”

“V’s right.” Betty met his eye. “We can talk about this later.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Not likely.”

The door opened again and Archie climbed back inside.

“Did you fix it?” Betty asked.

“No,” he sighed. “It’s the fuel pump. I could’ve screwed it back on, but he says I’m not allowed to touch anything. Otherwise, the company will hold me liable for future engine failures.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“So, what? We’re stuck here?” Veronica tried glancing out of the window. “Where is here?”

“It’s a two-lane highway. Forest on either side.”

“This is how most horror movies start,” said Jughead.

Veronica whipped out her cellphone. “I’m calling a car.”

“We’d be better off walking,” said Archie. “It’s not too far to the hotel.”

“You want us to walk? In heels? In the dark?” Veronica asked.

Betty shook her head. “I don’t know, Arch.”

“I thought tonight was about making memories?” Jughead said. “And spending time together?”

“You’re forgetting the first part.” Veronica crossed her arms over her chest. “ _Having fun._ ” 

“It’ll take half as long to walk as to wait for another car and have them drive us.”

“And I could use some fresh air,” Jughead agreed.

Archie turned to his wife. “Betty?”

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Sure.”

Veronica threw her head back and huffed. “If I break a heel, one of you is carrying me.”

Jughead was already staggering towards the door. “Not it.”

* * *

Archie opened the door to the trailer and stuck his head inside. “Hey, Dad?”

Fred kept his eyes on the papers he was reading. “What’s up?”

“Need an extra hard hat. New kid left his at home.”

“There— _uh._ There should be one or two in the green shed.”

“Everything okay?”

The crease on his father’s forehead smoothed. “Everything’s fine, Arch. You headed out to the east plot?”

“Yeah. We’re putting up the frame for the bathroom and closet.”

“Okay.” His father nodded, returning his gaze to the papers. “Be safe.”

“Will do.”

Even as the door shut behind him, Archie couldn’t forget the feeling his father’s face had given him. Like something was wrong. Like he was hiding a dead body beneath his desk. This must’ve been how Betty felt.

 _You can’t hide things from me, Arch. It’s written all over your face_.

Her words, spoken with the grave tone of someone who already knew where the dead body was buried, skittered through his head. She could read him. Just from a glance, she could tell when he was holding back. When he was lying.

“A Team!” Archie yelled. “With me!”

A group of sullen men in orange vests ambled over. Nico, the new kid, was the only lacking a shiny yellow cap.

“There should be another hat in the green shed. Hurry back.”

Nico nodded and went jogging away from the parking lot. When he returned, hard hat in hand, the men piled into a flatbed truck and rode down the cul-de-sac to the third unfinished house on the block. Unloading themselves and their tools, they divided into two groups and approached separate ends of the house.

Archie was accustomed to the routine of building. There was no artistry to construction. Everything had to be done the same way, across the board. Studs needed to be placed equidistant apart, as did nails. Boards needed to be perpendicular, as did two-by-fours. There were twenty plus drill bits for every drill gun and you couldn’t use the wrong one. Not ever. He kept the details straight in his mind using a song he’d come up with. Except, he couldn’t sing the song aloud because the site wasn’t a place for music. It was a place for work.

His mind multitasked. It sang his song. It conjured images of his child and what they might look like. It conjured images of his child’s mother, lying in bed, her hair splayed out around her head like a halo. Most of all, it deconstructed everything he’d done in the past several months to bring him to this point: The point of absolute desolation.

He still couldn’t figure out exactly where things went wrong.

“Arch.” Nico called him.

“What is it?”

“She’s here again.”

Archie tucked his drill back into his tool belt and turned to look through the wooden bars which constituted the house. Down, at the bottom of the drive, an orange hatchback idled, pumping grey exhaust into the wintry air.

Archie gritted his teeth. “I’ll be right back.”

His feet squelched through the clay mud surrounding the site and left blackened footprints on the snow-white drive. The hatchback switched off. The driver’s side door opened.

Archie held out his hand. “No. Don’t get out.”

“I need to speak to you.” Straggly bits of brown hair hung in her face; limp and wet, like it’d just been washed. “Please—”

“I’m not doing this anymore.” Archie came around to her side. “Geraldine. Get back in the car and leave.”

“Archie.” She was holding onto the door. Her eyes were ringed red. “Please, I just need five minutes. Just five minutes.”

“ _No._ ” He shook his head. “I entertained this longer than I should have and because of _that_ —I might lose my wife. I’m done.”

“I made a mistake. If you would just let me explain—”

“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.” He pulled his cellphone from his back pocket. “I’m not mistaken in thinking the statute of limitations hasn’t run out yet, right?”

The desperation slipped off of Grundy’s face. She stared him down, coolly. “You wouldn’t.”

Archie began pressing the numbers 9-1-1.

“Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll go.”

He watched as she lowered herself into the car.

“Don’t come back,” he said. “Ever.”

The sound of the door slamming shut reverberated through the still morning.

* * *

“This was a bad idea,” said Betty.

Archie nodded. “I’m realizing that now.”

The driver—Stewart—asked them several times if they were sure. Eventually, he’d seen them off with a few flashlights he’d found in the trunk of the limo and a _good luck_.

“Maybe the backup limo will drive this way and we’ll be able to wave as they pass by,” Jughead said, stumbling over his own feet.

“I won’t say I told you so—” Veronica said.

“Oh, really?”

“But I told you so.” She slapped at her arm. “ _Ugh._ There are mosquitos.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Archie supplied. “Something happy.”

“Well…” Veronica hummed. “I heard back from my second school of choice, Columbia.”

“And?” Betty prompted.

“And… I got in!”

Betty, who’d been walking in front with Archie, dropped back to wrap an arm around Veronica’s shoulder. “Good job, V. I’m proud of you.”

“Congrats, Ronnie.” Archie swiveled his head. “What about you, Jug?”

“What about me?”

“You hear back from anywhere?”

“I might’ve received an acceptance letter from NYU two weeks ago.” He batted the now empty water bottle against his forehead. “Big deal.”

“That is a big deal, Jones. You could try sounding pleased for once,” said Veronica.

“How can I be pleased when I’m going to be in the same city as you for the next four years?”

She scoffed. “Don’t you worry. I’ve yet to hear back from my first choice—the Sorbonne—but when I do I’ll be shopping for berets, not beanies.”

Silence ensued for the span of several footsteps.

“Archie? Betty? What about you guys?”

“I only applied to one place,” Archie said.

“Where?”

“Juilliard.” He shoved the hand which wasn’t gripping a flashlight into his pocket. “I’m on the waitlist.”

“That’s good, right?” Veronica glanced over at Betty, who still had her arm around her. “What about you?”

Betty swallowed. “I got into Princeton.”

“ _What?_ ” Veronica squeezed her. “Go Betty!”

“Wow,” Jughead grunted.

“You did?” Archie glanced over his shoulder, but couldn’t make out her face in the dark. “That’s incredible.”

“I’m not going,” she said.

“Excuse me? Why not?” Veronica asked.

“I just… Don’t want to.”

“You’ve wanted Ivy League since… As long as I’ve known you,” said Jughead. “Princeton isn’t Ivy, technically, but still. It’s up there.”

Betty dropped her arm from around Veronica’s neck. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Betts—” Archie started.

“It’s prom.” She moved up to walk beside him again. “We can worry about next year later.”

* * *

The _roar_ of the vacuum cleaner reached Betty all the way in the kitchen. “Mom!”

Nothing.

“ _Mom!_ ”

The suction switched off. “What?” Alice called from the living room.

“I’m _two_ pages away from finishing this essay. Would you mind vacuuming later?”

Alice came to stand at the doorway, a defiant fist on one hip and the cord to the vacuum held aloft with the other. “We have guests arriving tomorrow.”

“And this essay is due tonight,” Betty pressed.

“I’m sure your professor at _Riverdale Tech_ will understand if you’re a bit late. It’s a community college and you are nine months pregnant, Elizabeth.”

Betty slammed the book she was writing about shut, swiped Archie’s jacket from the back of her chair, and stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk.”

“It’s thirty-eight degrees—”

“That’s why I’ve got a jacket!”

Pulling the door shut behind her, Betty breathed in the biting air. She wanted to scream. If she wasn’t carrying an extra thirty pounds in her midsection, she would’ve broken into a run. Instead, she set off at a brisk pace through the backyard and along the channel between their houses.

Which was her real home? The Cooper colonial which could not reasonably be called the Cooper household anymore because the Cooper patriarch was in prison for committing unspeakable crimes? Or the Andrews’ midcentury which she wasn’t currently living in because the boy she loved wasn’t who she’d thought he was?

What a joke… She was halfway down the block before the tears came. What a _fucking_ joke her life had become.

Eighteen. Pregnant. Married. Separated. Attending community college instead of _Princeton_. Living with her mother instead of…

That was the worst part. She wanted to go back. With everything in her, she wanted to pretend the last three months had happened to someone else. She wanted to wake up in _their_ bed, rifle through baby clothes with _him_ , go to sleep in _his arms_.

A shooting pain shot up her spine. She paused, breathed deep.

“You okay, Miss?” An elderly man in a red robe was standing at his mailbox, watching her with concern.

“I’m okay… Thank you.”

Betty turned around. There was still the paper to write and her mother to deal with. As much as she might want to succumb to baser instincts, she couldn’t be weak. Not with the baby coming. What good would it do to pretend things were fine when they obviously weren’t? Better to suffer alone.

At the front door, another pain made itself known. This time, pressure undulated across her ribcage—a steady squeeze which made her half-keel over. 

The door swung open. “Betty?” Her mother placed a hand onto her back. “What is it?”

“I—I think we should go to the hospital.”

* * *

They reached the hotel just in time for dinner. Sweating, their hair windswept, their clothes stained with flecks of mud kicked up from the tires of passing cars—they were quite the sight.

“You four decided to rock _hobo chic_ , I see. What a statement,” Cheryl said, her ruby lips broadening into a smile.

“What happened to you guys?” Toni asked.

“We had to walk.” Archie pulled out a chair for Betty to sit. “Our limo broke down.”

Reggie, seated at the table beside theirs, leaned his chair back. “You use Franklin Motors?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Ah_ , man. They’re notorious.”

“Hey, Reg. You got any—?” Jughead mimed like he was drinking.

Reggie chuckled and reached a hand into his suit jacket. “You know it.” He partially pulled out a silver flask, then quickly stuffed it back inside.

“Let’s go then.”

“Seriously, Jug?” Betty watched him stand up from the table. “We’ve been here less than five minutes.”

“And it’s been more than two months since you’ve been my girlfriend, Betty, so remind me why you care?”

Cheryl chuckled beneath her breath.

“ _Jug_ ,” said Archie.

“It’s fine.” Betty ducked her head. “Go drink. Have fun.”

“I will,” he said, as Reggie joined him. “You should try it.”

After the chicken was served and no one was paying attention anymore, Archie leaned over. “There’s something wrong with him, but I don’t think it’s you.”

Betty nodded. “He’s hurting. I just don’t know why…”

“You should talk to him.”

“I don’t know how anymore.”

Archie held her gaze a moment longer, then raised his fork. “Green bean?”

She giggled. “Sure.”

As he went to feed her, the smell of garlic wafted up her nose. Her stomach flopped. Betty placed a hand to her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You love green beans.”

“No. I’m really— _Shit._ ”

Leaping up, Betty hightailed out of the ballroom as quickly as her feet could carry her. Her head whipped this way and that, searching for a bathroom sign, without any luck. At the end of the hallway, a squat potted plant sat by its lonesome. Betty rushed over and, to her great displeasure, emptied the contents of her stomach into the pot.

“Ma’am. We have a strict no vomiting in the ferns policy.”

Betty sank onto her knees. “I can’t with you right now, Jug.”

He came around, knelt down and placed his back against the wall. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think _you’d_ been secretly drinking all night.”

She brushed the back of her hand against her mouth.

“That or pregnant.”

Her hand stilled.

“Betty?” Jughead scanned her face. “You’re not pregnant.”

“Jug—”

“You’re not,” he slurred. “Tell me there’s some other reason you’re refusing to drink and not going to Princeton.” 

Betty shook her head.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me you’re not pregnant.”

“I can’t.”

“Since when…?” he whispered.

Betty leaned back onto her thighs. “The ski trip.”

Just then, the sound of encroaching footsteps reached their ears. A shadow passed over Jughead’s face. “Archie.”

“Hey.” Arch placed a hand on her back. “You alright?”

“Yes, I—”

“She’s pregnant.”

“I know.” Archie helped her to stand. “We were waiting to tell people because—”

“How do you know it’s yours?” Jughead asked, staggering to his feet.

Archie stepped in front of Betty. “Do you really want to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“We had sex. Before the rangers found us in the woods, after I proposed—we had sex.”

“Arch.” Betty placed a hand on his shoulder.

“So did we,” Jughead stated, narrowing his eyes. “The first night.”

She felt Archie tense beneath her fingertips. Quickly, she said: “We used protection, Jug.”

“Did we, Betty? Are you sure?”

They’d been drunk. Veronica’s cocktails and shots of Bacardi, if Betty remembered correctly. And that was _all_ she could remember. The sex was a blur of damp skin and remorse.

“Because I don’t think we did,” he continued, staring at her over Archie’s shoulder.

“That’s enough, Jug.” Archie held up his hands. “That’s enough.”

“Don’t tell me when it’s enough.” He turned his attention back to Betty. “You didn’t think this was something I should know about?”

“What difference does it make?” she asked.

“I could be the father.”

“I’m her husband, Jug. Whatever happens, I’ll be the father.” Archie turned to leave. “Come on.” He slipped his hand into Betty’s. “We can talk about this when he’s not drunk.”

“Or, we can talk about it _now_!” Jughead shoved his hands into Archie’s back, sending the latter stumbling.

Archie dropped Betty hand and twisted around, his chest heaving. “I’m not doing this with you, Jug. Not again.”

“You’re used to getting everything you want, huh?” Jug bobbed his head. “The girl. The life. _Everything_ … But not this. If that baby is mine, it’s _mine_.”

“This isn’t a contest, Jug! If what you’re saying is true, we’re going to have to deal with this. All three of us. But not tonight,” Betty cried.

“What is going on out here?” Veronica asked, emerging from the ballroom. “You guys are missing our prom.”

Betty took Archie’s hand again. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He nodded. “We’ll go.”

“This isn’t over,” Jughead said, before stalking back into the ballroom past a confused Veronica.

* * *

“Okay. This is _seriously_ good.” Veronica took a bite of her burger. “It might be the best thing you’ve ever written. By like, a lot.”

Jughead huffed through his nose. “Thank you. You, _uh_ , have a bit of—” He pointed to his mouth.

“Oh.” She grabbed a napkin and wiped the mustard from her lips. “Thanks.”

“You don’t think it’s a bit… Maudlin?” he asked.

Veronica scrunched her eyebrows. “Like you’re not maudlin?”

“I’m trying not to be. Anymore.”

“Don’t fight what works.” She placed his laptop back in front of him. “How’d you come up with the idea?”

“How do you think?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything—”

“It’s a thinly veiled autobiography. I just… Wanted to write about something real, for once.”

“Does your dad know?” Her eyes were pits of quicksand; black holes rotating through space.

“No.”

“He should read this.”

“Definitely not.” Jughead shook his head. “Didn’t even want you to read it.”

“Ouch.” Veronica swiveled her delicate neck to gaze out of the window. “That’s fair.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean—I’m just not ready for him to know what I think of him.”

“If I could tell my dad what a _piece of shit_ I think he is without having to call his prison, I would.” Veronica glanced back over at him. “But I get it.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“You were right,” she said suddenly.

Jughead followed the sharp curve of her jaw. The slight tension between her thin eyebrows. The sincerity he couldn’t replicate anywhere _but_ on the page that shone from behind her eyes. “About?”

“About me not being my father,” she said. “When you were convincing me to come to Mississippi, you said I wasn’t my father and… In a year, Riverdale would become ‘just another stop along the glorious highway of my life.’”

“I do have a way with words, don’t I?”

“You do… And you were right. I have new friends. I can’t even imagine being angry over the fact Betty and Archie are soulmates. I don’t regret anything that’s happened. I am _nothing_ like my father and _neither are you_.”

Jughead felt his jaw buckle. “What are you trying to do right now?”

“Just wanted you to know,” she said, smiling her _Veronica Lodge smile_. “I hope you’ll keep writing, Jug.”

He blinked hard, trying unsuccessfully to cast off her spell. “I will.”

“Good.”

He thought to ask if she’d found more than just friends when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He checked the screen and his eyes went wide. “I have to go.”

Veronica nodded. “Sure.” 

He closed his laptop and began packing the charger into his leather case. “Look. If you need somewhere to go tomorrow, you can come to mine. Can’t promise it’ll be fancy, but—”

“Smithers has to work, so—That’s perfect, actually. Thank you.”

Jughead threw his bag over his shoulder and tugged his beanie onto his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Veronica watched him turn and leave. By the look on his face, she’d already guessed who texted him. “See you tomorrow.”

* * *

They climbed into the back of a Lyft. Betty laid her head on Archie’s shoulder. Her pensive silences usually set him at ease. This time, however, he couldn’t wait for her to speak.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Princeton?”

“Because,” she said.

“Because why?”

“I can’t go.”

“Says who?” 

She glanced up at him and the light from the dashboard cast a blue glow across her cheekbone. “We’re going to move to New Jersey?”

“We could. It’s only three hours away.”

“With a baby?”

“The baby will fit in the back seat. I don’t see why not.”

Betty sighed. He could tell she was tired. “Arch.”

“You should have whatever you want, Betts. If you want Princeton, we’ll find a way.”

She reached out her hand to caress his face. “I have everything I want. _You._ ” She took her hand away to touch her stomach. Hidden beneath the taffeta folds of her dress was a modest bump. Not enough for their parents to notice, but enough he could feel a slight curve when he held her to go to sleep. “ _This._ ”

“What about journalism? _Hmm?_ ” He lowered his head to catch her eye. “What about Nancy Drew?”

She smiled and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. “I still want to be Nancy Drew… One day.”

“Good.” He wrapped his arms around her. The smell of her hair—green apples—slowed his heartbeat like a sleeping draught. “Don’t give up on your dreams and I won’t either. One day, it’s Princeton for you and Juilliard for me. Whatever it takes. Alright?”

She nodded. “Alright.”

* * *

Betty’s heart was thrumming wildly beneath her chest. The monitor, likewise, beeped an erratic song.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jughead asked. He leaned against the far wall, by the television, with his arms crossed.

“I don’t know.”

“This could be it,” he said. “We could know tonight.”

“I can’t think about that right now.”

“That’s all I can think about.” At the escalation of the beeping, he sighed. “What else can we talk about…? Veronica’s back. Ran into her at Pop’s.”

“She is?” Betty closed her eyes and leaned her head back against a thin, hospital-grade pillow. “How is she?”

“She looks good.”

Betty pried open one of her eyelids to peer at him.

“Healthy, I mean.” He shrugged.

“Sure.” Betty closed her eye. “Do you ever see her? In the city?”

“It’s a big city,” he said.

“You could call her. Ask her to hang out.”

“Me and Veronica? Hanging out?”

“I know about last summer, Jug.” Betty placed a hand on her stomach and breathed through another contraction.

“Then you know we weren’t made to last.”

The doctor—an elegant looking woman with short brown hair—entered then, putting an end to their conversation.

* * *

When Archie returned from the east plot, his father was standing in the parking lot. Before the truck came to a full stop, he was flagging him down. Archie jumped out of the bed and jogged over. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s Betty,” his father said. “She’s at Washington Memorial. Suite 211. _Go._ ”

* * *

He came bursting into the room. The doctor was pulling off her latex gloves. When she saw him, she asked: “Who are you?”

“I’m—” _The father_ , Archie had been about to say. Then he saw Jughead standing in the corner. “Her husband.”

The doctor glanced between both boys. “Okay, then.”

Archie went over to Betty and placed a brief kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see your messages. My dad told me you were here when I came back from the site. You’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” She turned her face away from his. “It’s just Braxton Hicks. False alarm.”

Archie turned to the doctor.

“Happens to the best of us,” she said.

“How can you tell the difference?”

“There are a lot of signs which distinguish Braxton Hicks from actual labor. Before labor, we expect the baby to drop into a lower position on the abdomen. This hasn’t happened with Betty yet. We look for regular contractions which have increased in strength over time. Betty’s have decreased in strength. As well, her water hasn’t broken.” The doctor held up her hands. “In all honesty, I don’t think you have anything to worry about tonight.”

Archie wasn’t sure what to feel. He merely nodded.

“I’ll leave you for now. You’re free to check out. Try and rest, when you’re home. If you do end up going into labor tonight, I am the resident doctor on call. If you’d like your regular physician to be available, I’d suggest giving them a call now.”

“I will,” said Archie. ‘Thank you.”

The doctor left.

“Where’s your mom? She drove you, right?”

“She’s—” The door swung open once more and Alice entered carrying a grey suitcase. “Right there.”

“I have your bag. Can’t believe we forgot it. Hello, Archie. Glad you’ve made it,” said Alice. “Finally.”

“It was a false alarm, Mom. We won’t need the bag.”

“A false alarm?”

“Braxton Hicks,” said Betty.

“Oh.” Alice pouted. “Well… At least this gives me a chance to go grocery shopping for tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Betty nodded. “That’s exactly what this means.” 

“Like you said, Elizabeth, it’s a false alarm. I do have other errands to run today.”

“Run your errands, Mom.” Betty was thinking about her essay, due at midnight. “It’s fine.”

“Do you mind driving Elizabeth home, Archie? Or do you need to return to work?”

“No. Of course I’ll take her—”

Betty felt her lungs tighten. “I don’t want that. I don’t to ride with him.” She shook her head. “Why can’t you drop me off before you go to the store?”

“Because it’s out of the way,” Alice said. “And because it’d be good for you to spend time with the father of your impending child, Elizabeth.”

Jughead cleared his throat. “I can take her.”

Before Betty could respond, Archie spoke up. “Betty, please.” Through sheer effort of will, he kept the desperation out of his voice. “Please.”

Her hardened gaze flickered up to meet his. He wasn’t used to her looking at him with such… _Pain._

“Please.”

* * *

He put the jalopy into drive and drove out of the Washington Memorial parking lot. Ordinarily, once the car was moving, he would reach over and grab Betty’s hand. Only now, she kept her hands in her lap, bundled together like a bomb.

The streets of Riverdale were dusky and wet. Silvery puddles in pot holes reflected the holiday lights strung between streetlamps. He kept the radio off and the heat on high blast. She didn’t do well with cold anymore. He wondered at ways to fill the silence. What could be said which hadn’t been said already? He wasn’t yet sick of saying sorry, but surely she was sick of hearing apologies.

“I’m glad the baby didn’t come tonight.” Archie glanced over to gauge her reaction. “I don’t want them to meet us… like this.”

“I can’t imagine we’ll be fixed before they get here,” she said. “Barring a Christmas miracle…”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Stranger things _have_ happened.” There was a sour note in her voice. “Stranger things, _by far_.”

“Betty—”

“Arch, I don’t want to get upset—”

“Maybe you should.” He was gripping the steering wheel tight. “Get upset. Be angry. Scream. Cry. _Speak to me._ ”

“I don’t want to get upset, Archie, because I’m _always upset_.” Betty stuck her tongue into her cheek. “I wake up angry. I go to sleep angry. It’s not good for me and it’s not good for the baby.”

“We’re never going to get past this if we don’t talk.”

“This is why I didn’t want to ride with you,” she said, staring out of the window. “I knew you would do this.”

“I’ll apologize for whatever you want me to, Betty. Except _one thing_.” Archie watched her out of the corner of his eye. “The one thing I will _never_ apologize for is loving you.”

He’d never had to chase Betty. Not even when they were children. She’d always loved him and he’d always loved her. A simple fact. It’d only been a matter of timing for the both of them. Now, she seemed always just outside his grasp. He was constantly reaching for her and she kept finding ways to elude him. 

“I can’t give you the answer you want,” she said, echoing another conversation from years past.

“Then can we spend time together? At least? _I miss you._ ” _I miss your skin. Your smell. Your cold toes on my calves and your hair clogging the shower drain._ He could’ve waxed on for hours about all the things he missed, but they were entering their neighborhood now and his time was running out.

“When?”

She was cracking the door open for him. He could tell.

“Tonight.”

“I can’t. I have a paper I need to finish,” she said. “It’s important.”

“Of course it is.” Archie pulled up to the Andrews’ driveway. He’d plugged in the lights earlier to test they worked and forgotten to unplug them. The house sparkled—red, green, blue, purple, orange—in the night. “Finish at our house. I want to make sure you rest after.”

Betty fiddled with her hands. ‘I don’t know, Arch.”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight, just… Let me take care of you.”

She pulled her jacket tighter over her chest. _His_ jacket. “Okay.”

Archie could’ve pumped his fist in the air with joy. Instead, he said: “Okay. Let’s go.”

If he’d been paying attention, he would have seen the orange hatchback parked across the street, underneath the low hanging branches of a great elm tree.

* * *

Betty put the finishing touches on her paper at eleven fifty-five.

“Five minutes to spare,” Archie said, folding a pile of clothes on his bed. “Good work.”

“Thanks.” Betty pressed send. The _whooshing_ sound effect settled her nerves. “I’m officially done with my first semester of college.”

Archie smiled wide enough she could practically see every tooth on his upper row. “I’m proud of you. We should celebrate.”

“What’ll it be?” Betty leaned back in her chair. “An all-night rave or a champagne binge?”

“How about some icecream?” he asked, packing the clothes into a wicker basket.

“We have icecream?”

“Yes, _we_ do.”

She’d been gone over a month. It struck her she didn’t know what was in the fridge anymore. And here he was folding his own underwear.

“Vanilla bean, please.”

“My pleasure.”

* * *

He made her eat the icecream lying down in bed while he sat in a chair beside, tuning his guitar.

“Have you been playing?”

He shook his head. “Not much.” One of the chords made a wonky sound. “As you can hear.”

“How come?”

“You know what I’m like after work… My hands are already sore and I’m tired. Plus—” He paused.

“What? What is it?”

“I can’t write when I’m not with you.”

Betty spooned the last mouthful of icecream and set her bowl down onto the table. “I’m suffering too, you know.”

“I know,” he said. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I don’t want to make you feel bad, Betty.”

“But I do.” Her shoulders raised and dropped. She stared blankly at her feet, sticking up underneath the covers at the end of the bed. “I do feel bad.”

He could tell by the first quiver of her chin where this was heading, but he held back because he wasn’t sure she’d want his comfort. “Why?”

“Because…” Tears dripped down her face. “Because…”

Archie placed his guitar onto the floor. “It’s okay. You can say it.”

“ _Because…_ ” Betty swallowed. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

He hung his head. He hadn’t been expecting anything different, but anticipation didn’t make hearing the words any easier.

“I’m sorry,” she choked. “ _God_ , Arch. I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t look up. “Don’t apologize.”

“I love you. I do.” Betty almost reached out to touch him. Elbows on his knees, his head hanging in his hands—he appeared _impossibly_ young. “More than I can even say and maybe that’s why it’s so hard.”

Hard to reconcile the man sitting in front of her with the man who’d lied. Hard to forgive. Hard to move on.

“I understand.” When he managed to look up again, his eyes were wet. “It’s okay. Really. Doesn’t change anything for me.” Archie placed his hands onto his knees and stood. He came over and, as he always did, kissed Betty on the head. “Try and sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before he could pull away, Betty followed her impulse and gripped onto his shirt. “You don’t have to go.”

“What?”

Perhaps they couldn’t pretend things were fine when they weren’t. And perhaps Betty couldn’t pretend she’d forgiven him when she hadn’t… But she also couldn’t pretend she didn’t need him. Just this once. Just tonight.

“Stay.” She tugged on his shirt and he fell effortlessly into bed. “Hold me.” He wrapped his arm over her body. “I meant what I said… But we’ll deal with it tomorrow and the next day and the next.” She brought her hands up to cradle his face. “I don’t want to be without you tonight.”

Archie breathed a tentative sigh. “Neither do I.”

* * *

Outside of the bedroom window, a light smattering of snow had begun to fall. Below, stood on the grassy lawn staring up at the frosty sheet of glass, was Geraldine. 


	2. Late Summer Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is, technically, day three. *shh*
> 
> Merry Christmas, darlings!

**July**

Veronica ran her black nails along his spine. The A/C, half-hanging out of the trailer window, blew streams of cool air across their bare skin, raising goosebumbs. Somewhere close by, a cricket chirped its song.

 _What are we doing?_ she wanted to ask. _Why am I laid in bed with Jughead Jones?_ _Again?_ But she wouldn’t be _that_ girl. The girl who needed a definition. The girl who didn’t know where she stood. Instead, she said: “I’m going to leave soon.”

“Don’t,” he grumbled. “Stay.”

“It’s my niece’s confirmation in the morning.” She tickled him behind his ear. “My father’s side of the family. Mafia. Mass. I’ll need all the sleep I can get.”

Jughead threw an arm over her. “Sleep here, then.”

“Blurred lines, Jones.”

“You’ve slept over before, Lodge.” His other hand scrambled in the dark. After a moment, light from his phone illuminated both of their faces. “I’ll set an alarm. How early?”

“Seven.”

The alarm set, Jughead locked his phone and tossed it back onto the bedside table. “Good?”

“Good.”

Veronica closed her eyes. Once, she’d accidentally slept over and woken to find a mug of steaming tea on the nightstand. When she came into the kitchen wearing his shirt, he glanced up from the crossword he’d been in the middle of solving, took the pen he’d been biting out of his mouth, and said: “Good morning.”

Those two words, spoken with such casual affection, did something she hadn’t expected. A friends-with-benefits situation had suited her fine until then. It’d been preferable, even. She’d been content to trade insults and watch detective films and make each other feel good after the sun went down. What could be better? She didn’t really _want_ Jughead. How could she when she was so _astronomically out of his league_?

I mean, the boy wore socks with sandals. Only in the house, but still…

Therefore, she could not understand why a thoughtless act of care from him set her heart ablaze. Defied logic, really.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Jughead.”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Veronica peeled her eyes open and slapped him on the arm. “Your alarm.”

Jughead grabbed his phone and pressed his finger on the home button. The alarm ceased.

“Thank you.”

He wasn’t even awake.

_Ping. Ping, ping. Ping._

For a moment, she thought the alarm was going off again. Veronica took the phone which was slowly but surely slipping from his grasp. When she looked at the screen, however, there was no alarm. Only four unopened text messages from Betty. Veronica opened them without a second’s thought.

**Betty**

Today. Verity @ 2. Okay?

**Betty**

I wasn’t sure whether you wanted

a copy of this or not. In case…

The third message was a sound file. Veronica didn’t press play, but then she didn’t need to.

**Betty**

Baby’s heartbeat.

Veronica slipped his phone back into his hand. Perhaps, when he woke up, he’d think he opened the messages himself. She rolled out of bed and dressed quietly. The floorboards creaked on her way out of his room. Just as she shut his door, the front door flew open.

“Mr. Jones,” Veronica exclaimed. Which was weird, because she’d only ever called Jug that name.

FP glanced up at her with surprised. Then, jaded amusement. “On your way out?”

“ _Hmm_.” Veronica squeezed by him and into the damp morning. “Nice to see you.”

“You too, doll.” He leaned an arm against the doorframe. “Are you going to become a fixture around here?”

Veronica glanced back. “I don’t think so.”

.+.

**December 24 th**

Riverdale received six inches of snow during the night. When Betty awoke, the neighborhood was a winter wonderland. Icicles dripped, the slushy streets were streaked with tire tracks and trees bowed beneath the weight of the onslaught. Six a.m. light—faint and blue—found its way through an overcast sky. Archie’s broad footsteps provided a path through the thick blanket of ice covering the lawn. Betty placed her feet into the holes he left behind.

The idea had been to perform her “walk of shame” before any interested eyes could observe.

“Do you have to work today?”

“A quick shift for the guys on the team who need overtime. I’ll be back before three.” As he ascended the stairs to the porch, he glanced over his shoulder. “Why?”

She was still reminiscing about waking up in bed with his hands on her stomach. “Just don’t want to deal with my mom by myself all day.”

“I could be back by noon?”

They stood beside the red front door, facing each other.

“That would be preferable.”

“Last night was…” Archie shook his head. “Can’t tell you how much it meant to me. How much I’ve missed _us._ ”

There must’ve been a chemical released into the air whenever their bodies were within ten feet of each other which made separation nearly intolerable. There must’ve been a mechanism activated through his touch which wiped clean the slate of her mind. There must’ve been a metaphorical hammer which steadily chipped away at her resolve day after day… Because here she was forgetting why she’d left him in the first place.

“I’ve missed us, too.” Betty’s eyes roved his face. “A lot.”

His eyes flickered to her lips. “I should go.” _Shouldn’t I?_

“You should.” _I should want you to._

“If you feel so much as a twinge—” He pinned her with a serious look. “You call me. I’ll have my phone near and the ringer turned up as loud as possible.”

“I will.”

“Alright.” He gave her a forehead kiss. “See you soon.”

Archie’s footsteps _crunched_ behind her as she unlocked the door and slipped inside. Betty pressed her back against the wooden slab. Her heart beat slow in her chest.

“Do I spy a reconciliation?”

She glanced over to find Alice standing by the window, steaming the curtains. “What are you doing awake?”

“Big day. Lots to do.” Her mother waved a hand toward the stairs. “Go. Get dressed. I’ll need your help in the kitchen. Polly will be by the with kids around ten.”

Betty began ambling toward the stairs. “Great.”

.+.

There was a free clinic in Mason called _Verity Medical_ which took walk-ins. One of the nurses—Barbara—over the weeks, came to refer to Betty as _Blonde_ , Archie as _Red_ , and Jughead as _Grumpy Boy_.

“Grumpy Boy, would you like to see the baby?” Barbara adjust the ultrasound wand over Betty’s stomach.

From his spot by the door, Jughead shook his head. “I’m fine here.”

Archie couldn’t take his eyes off of the monitor. He stood next to Betty, running his fingers absentmindedly through her hair.

“You don’t want to know the sex, right, Blonde?”

Betty smiled. “You ask us every week.”

“You’d be surprised how many parents change their mind. Just can’t take the not knowing. So…” Barbara _clicked_ a key on the ultrasound machine and the printer stationed on the counter behind her began printing noisily. “What’ll it be?”

To her surprise, Archie’s eyes were waiting when she turned to look at him. “I’m in no rush,” he said.

“Me either.”

“What about you, Grumpy Boy? If you want to know, I’ll whisper the sex in your ear. You’ll just have to keep it a secret,” Barbara said, wiping Betty’s stomach with a warm towel.

“I don’t care about the sex,” Jughead said. “How soon can we do a paternity test?”

Barbara whistled lowly. “That’s up to Blonde here. She’s about sixteen weeks—second trimester—and the risks associated with a prenatal paternity test are low.”

“How low is low?” Archie asked.

“For an amniocentesis—”

“A _what?_ ”

“Essentially—” Barbara tossed the used towel into a gray waste basket. “A doctor would stick a needle through Blonde’s stomach and into the amniotic sack encasing the baby. There is between a zero-point-one and a zero-point-three percent chance of miscarriage associated with the procedure. Very rare,” she said. “More likely, she’d leak a bit of amniotic fluid and that’s that.”

“How accurate is the test—?”

Betty cut Jughead off. “No.”

“No?”

Barbara pulled off her gloves. The latex _smack_ was overly loud in the quiet room. “I’m gonna have you sit up for me, dear.” She helped Betty to sit. “Now, I’m going to leave you three to have a moment. I’ll see you in a month, yeah?”

“Thank you,” Archie said.

“No problem, Red.”

Once Barbara shut the door, all hell broke loose.

“We’re not doing the test,” Betty declared. “Not yet.”

“ _Why?_ ” Jughead ceased leaning against the wall. “Why drag this out all summer when we could know now?”

“She said _no_ , Jug.” Though Archie wore a plain expression, his insides were roiling.

“This isn’t fair—”

“Losing a baby isn’t a fair.” Betty hopped down from the patient table and tugged her shirt down over the exposed skin of her stomach. “But it happened to me. You think you’re struggling now? Because there’s a question you don’t know the answer to? Well, imagine the answer being a door slammed shut in your face. Talk to me about fair then.”

Jughead sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be gone in a month, Betty.”

“Enjoy your time at NYU.” She stalked past him and out of the door.

“You can’t push her, Jug.” Archie shook his head. “Not on this.”

“I have to know,” he said. “Don’t you?”

“It’s a matter of time.” Archie slid his hands into his pockets and began walking toward the door. “Be patient.”

.+.

Betty was in the middle cleaning blueberry jam from Juniper’s stubby fingers when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Alice called.

“Dagwood? Please don’t stand on the chair. Remember mommy said don’t do that?” Betty pulled another wipe from the package. “Get down please.”

Dagwood blew a raspberry and continued using the chair to climb upon the table. “Shut up,” he said. “You’re stupid.”

Where was Polly? _Napping._

“That’s not nice. I just don’t want you to get hurt…” Betty trailed off at the sound of voices in the living room. “Juni, I think your hand is clean now.”

The four-year-old held her hand up before her face. “Is it?”

“Yes.” Betty tossed the wipe into the trash and checked the time. _Eleven._ Only an hour until Archie came home. “Let’s go see who’s here.”

Dagwood needed to be hauled off of the table and carried. As soon as Betty left the kitchen, she recognized the voices, and when she turned the corner to the living room, her suspicions were confirmed. FP, Jughead, and Veronica sat around the living room, conversing.

“Mom?”

“A few more guests than expected,” Alice said, resting her arm on FP’s shoulder. “Do you think there’ll be enough food?”

There was enough food in the kitchen to feed five families. Betty’s concern, however, laid elsewhere.

“The storm last night took out a few powerlines on the Southside,” Jughead explained, gauging her face. “We didn’t have heat.”

Betty’s gaze shifted to Veronica.

“My mother’s in Saint-Tropez,” she said, shrugging.

“And hospitality is a hallmark of the season,” Alice said. “I’m sure the rest of the family won’t mind.”

“Can I speak to you?” Betty asked. “In the kitchen.”

“I need to find three extra placemats for dinner tonight—”

“ _Now._ ”

Betty deposited Dagwood onto the ground with a _go play with Aunt V and Uncle Jug,_ then turned on her heels without waiting for a response. Moments later, Alice joined her in the kitchen.

“I’m not sure I appreciate your current attitude, Elizabeth—”

“What is he doing here?” Betty whispered, pointing back from where they’d come. “Did you invite him?”

“They lost power, Elizabeth. It’s _Christmas Eve_ —”

“ _Mom._ ” Was she really going to make her say the words?

“I’ve done nothing wrong in this situation.” Alice tilted her chin upwards and stared down at her through lidded eyes. “Collect yourself. When you’re done, you can join us in the living room.”

.+.

On the fourth of July, they loaded up the Cadillac Deville and rode out of town with the top down. Sunlight set the tips of Archie’s hair on fire and Betty spent whole swathes of highway merely staring at him from the passenger’s seat. Occasionally, he’d glance over, meet her eye, smile.

Mid-afternoon, they reached the watering hole. Against all odds, no one else was there.

“I like Alexandra,” Betty said, peeling off her oversized t-shirt. The four-month old bump protruding from her abdomen was no more than if she’d eaten a large lunch.

“Do you remember Alexandra Wilkins from fifth grade English?” Archie slid his pants off. “She set Mr. Taylor’s desk on fire.”

“What about Augusta?”

“They’ll call her Gus.” He tucked the bottles of cider underneath his arm pits and lifted the picnic basket out of the backseat. 

“It’s easy to shoot down ideas,” Betty said. “You try.”

From where they’d parked by the trees, they began their descent toward the brown sand beach and shallow navy-green water.

“What about… Alice?” Archie grinned. 

“You’re hilarious.”

“I don’t actually think we’ll have a girl,” he said. “But if we do, there’s always my mother’s name.”

“ _Mary._ ” Betty rolled the sound around in her mouth. “I like that.”

As they laid out their towels and settled onto the hard ground, there was no further discussion of a boy’s name. There was no doubt in either of their minds—though they’d never taken the time to voice this aloud—what their son would be called.

“When do you want to tell our parents?”

Betty leaned back on her elbows and dug her toes into the sand. “On the way to the hospital?”

“I don’t imagine we’ll be able to hide it that long, Betts.”

Archie’s eyes roamed the new terrain of her body. Excluding the bump, he’d noticed other differences. Her hips, her breasts, her fingernails, even. He didn’t understand how anyone could miss the way she was transforming. Even in his own mind, she’d undergone a change. First, she’d been his childhood friend—Betts. Then his wife—Betty. Now, she was becoming a mother—Elizabeth.

“When should I tell my mother I’m pregnant, Arch?” She squinted out over the glittering ripples of the pond. “Before or after I tell her about Princeton?”

“After,” he said. “Definitely.”

Betty tossed her head back and closed her eyes against the sun. “I’m just not ready for the fun part of summer to end.”

She didn’t hear him stand. Betty’s lids flew open as she was hoisted into the air. “Archie. _Archie!_ ”

He was jogging toward the water, laughing as she bounced in his arms with each step. “The fun part of summer’s not over yet.”

“You won’t.”

“I’m about to.” 

“ _Archie Andrews_ , put me—”

He’d tossed her body into the warm water. Betty came up spluttering, her hair plastered to her skull. “I’m going to get you.”

He arced his hand through the water and splashed her. “Give it your best shot.”

.+.

Veronica knocked on the door to Betty’s room.

“Come in.”

When she entered, Betty was seated at the vanity, wearing a burgundy maternity dress with green trestles on the sleeves. She raised an eyebrow in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“Red suits you.” Veronica sank down onto the foot of her bed. “You should wear it more often.”

Betty uncapped a vial of red velvet lipstick and glanced pensively around her pink room. Pink walls. Pink furniture. Pink sheets. “Maybe I should,” she said.

“Sorry to bombard your Christmas Eve.”

“Tonight was fucked anyway.”

“Betty dropping f-bombs?” Veronica made like she was clutching her pearls. “What’s happened to you?”

“My mother.” Betty rubbed her lips together, stuck the cap back on the lipstick and spun around on her chair. “You _do_ look good.”

“You say that like I don’t ordinarily.”

“Jug told me you were back in town. He said—” Betty scanned her friend from head to toe. “ _She looks good._ ”

“Did he?”

“He did.”

“Well.” Veronica smiled at the carpet and shook her head.

“What?”

“Nothing, Betty.” 

“What is it?”

Veronica tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Jughead’s heart belongs to someone else.”

“V—”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve always known as much.”

Betty rose from the vanity and came to sit beside the other girl. “His mind may be elsewhere, but his heart is up for grabs.”

“Do you think that’ll still be the case if your baby is his?”

Betty stiffened. “You know?”

“I’m not an idiot.” Veronica tapped her foot against the bed frame. “And I may have read his texts last summer.”

“You’re not the only one…”

“ _What?_ ”

“Nothing.” Betty went to stand by the window. Across the way, Archie’s shadowed bedroom stared back.

“Are you ready?” Veronica asked.

“For?”

“Your life to change.”

“My life won’t stop changing,” Betty said. “I’m used to it now.”

.+.

A week after Independence Day, she made first contact at _Andrews & Son Construction_.

He recognized her car—an orange hatchback—from the summer when he poured concrete. She would wait for him wearing those red, heart-shaped sunglasses with the A/C running on high and a cherry lollipop stuck between her teeth. She’d liked how he slid into her car, sweaty and eager. He’d liked how everyone on the crew knew the older woman waiting in the parking lot was waiting for him.

This time, when his eyes alighted upon the familiar carroty color of the car, Archie blinked. His mind skipped back to freshman year and, for a moment, he was confused. The door was opening before he could find his bearings.

Geraldine had lost weight. _Too much weight._ A light purple bruise swept from her right eye down her cheek. She wore an oversized cardigan and her eyes kept darting around as she approached.

He met her halfway. “Geraldine.”

“Archie,” she said, trying to smile. “Look at you. All grown up.”

“Yeah.” A strange feeling flitted through him. “Are you okay?”

“ _Um…_ ” She ran a hand down her arm. “I—I need help.”

“Okay.” Archie held out his hand. “Let’s talk in your car.” They went over and climbed into the hatchback. The sensation of déjà vu wouldn’t stop assaulting his senses. He placed his hands onto his knees and rubbed up and down. “What’s wrong?”

She reached up a gentle hand to touch her eye. “You remember I told you about my ex-husband?”

“Yeah.” Her abusive ex had been the reason she changed her name from Jessica Gibson to Geraldine Grundy. “Did he find you?”

“I don’t know how. He just… He just showed up at my house and…”

“What?” Archie gritted his teeth. “What did he do?”

“He hurt me,” she said. “I can’t go back home. I didn’t know where else to go—”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you came to me.”

“I was hoping you would know of some place I could stay. Just for a little while. Until I can change my name again, find a new house—”

“I know somewhere.” Archie nodded, considering the pros and cons of using the bunker. “Somewhere you’ll be safe.”

Grundy shut her eyes. Tears slipped down her face and fell onto her lap. “Thank you, Archie.” Her hand reached out and grasped his hand. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He squeezed once before letting go. “Of course.”

.+.

Archie unlocked the door and pushed his way inside. “Who’s car is that in the drive—?”

A quick glance into the living room answered his question.

“Hey,” Jughead said, standing up from the couch. His father, FP, merely held up a single hand in greeting and continued watching football on the television.

“What are you doing here?”

“Long story short, Southside lost power. Alice said we could eat Christmas dinner here.”

Archie nodded. He kept his face neutral. “Where’s Betty?”

“Upstairs. With Veronica.” Jughead bobbed his head. “Who is also here.”

“ _Archie, Archie!_ ” Juniper came sprinting into the room. He bent down and swept the tiny human into his arms. “I missed you,” she said.

“I missed you too, Junebug.” Archie turned back to Jughead, who was watching him with a strange expression. “Want to play corn hole outside?”

Jughead shrugged. “It’s below freezing, but… Why not?”

.+.

“This isn’t happening.” Alice was halfway to burning a hole in the rug from pacing back and forth. “This isn’t happening.”

“Mom—”

“Tell me you’re not this _stupid_ , Elizabeth!”

“Alice.” Fred reach out his hand and lightly grasped her elbow. “Calm d—”

Her mother shook him off. “If you tell me to calm down—” Her face was stark-red. The muscle in her neck thrummed. “ _Don’t._ ”

Fred nodded stoically. “Just think, Alice. Think before you say or do something you’ll regret.”

“Something _I_ regret?” Alice placed a hand onto her chest. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Except raise two daughters who would rather _throw their lives away_ —”

“I’m not throwing my life away,” Betty interjected. Archie sat by her side, on the couch, smoothing a palm down her back. With him there, she felt strong. Strong enough to face her mother without flinching. “I’m choosing a different path than you—”

“How is this different? _Princeton_ would’ve been different, Elizabeth. This “pregnancy”—” She placed air quotes around the word, as though Betty’s baby was a disputable piece of misinformation. “Isn’t original. I left high school with a baby. So did your sister.”

“You wouldn’t recommend it?” Betty quipped.

“Worst decision of my life,” Alice replied.

The room devolved into silence. Betty glanced over at Archie. His face confirmed: Her mother had just said something awful. Chances were, she would do so again before this conversation was over.

“Say something.” Alice narrowed her eyes at her husband. “You wanted them to stay married and living in that house, _alone_. This is your fault. Say something.”

Before Fred could answer, Archie shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Dad. Betty was pregnant when we came home from Mississippi. You couldn’t have stopped this.”

“Well, what about now?” Alice leaned closer to her husband. “It’s not too late to stop this.”

“Excuse me?” Archie asked, stiffening beside Betty.

Fred met his wife’s eye. “What are you saying, Alice?”

“I’m saying…”

Betty knew the next words out of her mother’s mouth would be foul, because even her mother teetered on the edge of saying them aloud.

“Late-term abortions are available in certain states—”

Betty was out of her seat and lunging for her mother within seconds. If Archie hadn’t wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her back down onto him, she would’ve slapped her mother across the face.

“Betty!” Alice shouted.

“One wasn’t enough!?” Betty struggled in Archie’s grip. “I already lost one baby—”

Alice turned her wide eyes on Fred. “What is she talking about?”

“Because you _dragged_ me to that prison to see _him_!” Rage-filled tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Because _you baited him_! You _used me!_ ”

“What are you talking about, Elizabeth?!”

“You wanted him to _see_ , Mom. That you were happy. That you’d moved on. That I wasn’t _his_ anymore.” Betty felt a guttural sickness billow in her stomach. “You used me.”

“I—I—” Alice stuttered.

Betty tapped Archie’s arm. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He released his hold and she stood up. Walking straight over to her mother, whose face was a mask of confusion and indignant pride, Betty swallowed her apprehension and recirculated her pain into words.

“You can’t use me anymore, Mom. I’m not a doll for you to dress up. I’m not living the version of your life you never had the opportunity to live. I’m _done._ ”

Liquid threatened to spill over the threshold of her mother’s eyes, as well. She blinked several times and the moisture dissipated. “You’re making a mistake, Elizabeth.”

Betty placed a hand over her stomach. With her other hand, she reached back to hold Archie. “Maybe. If so, it’s our mistake to make.”

.+.

They dragged two boards out into the snow. Facing each other, they stood twenty feet apart. Archie bounced the sixteen-ounce pouch of corn resting on his palm. “You first.”

Jughead drew back his arm and tossed the bag underhanded. It landed on the bottom of the board. “Your turn.”

Archie raised his hand above his head and shot the bag like a basketball. It landed on the edge of the hole. Then, after a moment, slipped through.

“How are you good at everything?” Light reflecting off of the snow cast a ghostly pallor over Jughead’s face.

“I’m not,” said Archie. “There are plenty of things I’m not good at.”

Jughead reached down into the hole to fetch the bag. “Name one.”

“Math.”

Jughead nodded. “That’s true.”

“How’s NYU treating you?”

“Good.” He launched the pouch—underhanded, again. It landed closer to the hole by several inches. “Everyone there is weirder than I am.”

“Why do you sound disappointed?” Archie grabbed Jughead’s first toss.

“Being normal is boring.”

“Don’t worry.” Archie tried an underhanded approach. The pouch sailed through the hole on Jughead’s board. “You’ll always be weird to me.”

Both boys smiled.

“If the baby’s mine, I’ll come back, you know?” Jughead cracked his neck. “I’ll move back to town.”

Archie watched as Jug’s next throw narrowly missed the hole. “Why would you?”

“To be present. That’s important…” He glanced back toward the house.

“Your dad staying sober?”

Jughead blinked. “How would I know?”

“Does he seem like it?”

“Yeah. There are no fresh stains on the floor from him throwing up, so… That’s a good sign.”

“Jug—”

“You gonna throw?”

Archie arced another shot into the hole.

Jughead bent down and, grasping its wooden legs, dragged the board another ten feet. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Archie asked, laughing.

“What are you going to do if the baby’s mine?”

“I meant what I said. Either way, I’ll be a father to Betty’s child. I love her and I’m not fazed by the idea of her having someone else’s baby.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Well… Maybe a little.”

Jughead took his shot. The corn bag touched down on the middle of the board, then slid up and through the hole. “I knew it.”

“But it won’t change anything. Not really.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Jughead shrugged his shoulders. “Did for Veronica.”

“You and Veronica—?”

“Yeah. Last summer.” Jughead tilted his head up toward the sky.

“How’d she find out? You told her?”

“Pretty sure she read my texts.”

“That’ll get you.” Archie nodded. “What’d she say?”

“Didn’t say anything.” Jughead brought his chin down to look at him. “She just left.”

“For New York?”

He nodded.

“Dang. Sorry, Jug.”

“She had to do what she had to do. Who knows what the results might change?”

Archie poised to take his shot. “I wouldn’t count on them changing much.”

.+.

**August**

Archie brought a heater down to the bunker.

“Thank you.” Geraldine was looking better. Her bruises had faded to almost nothing and she’d gained weight. “It’s only cold some nights.”

As he set up the machine in the corner, Archie explained: “It’s the walls. Reinforced concrete. Keeps out the heat during the day, which is good, but then at night—” 

“Turns into an ice box?” Geraldine laughed.

“It’s not the nicest accommodations. Sorry.”

“Are you kidding?” When he was done, she patted the spot next to her on the bed. “It’s safe. You can’t know how much being here sets me at ease.”

Archie grabbed his bag from the metal fold-out chair and went to sit on the twin mattress. “I brought the documents for the name change.” 

“I might try going foreign this time,” she said, accepting the papers from him. “What do you think of Svetlana?”

“You’re the one who will have to live with it.”

“Assuming he doesn’t find me again…”

“He won’t,” Archie insisted. “There’s a number on there for a realtor my dad works with. He’ll sell your house and you can use the money to go anywhere.”

“You don’t know Dave. He’s—”

“Dave?”

“My ex-husband,” Grundy said. “Remember?”

Four years ago, she’d said his name was Alec. “Yeah. Sorry. Just forgot.”

“He’s smart. He knows how to find people,” she continued, wrapping her arms across her chest.

“What does he do? For work?”

“I told you. He’s a cop. That’s why I can’t go to the police.”

Archie nodded. “We’ll just have to be smarter. If we do things right, he won’t find you again.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Geraldine leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. Archie resisted the impulse to pull away. “You’re a good boy, Archibald.”

He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “Thanks.”

“I’ve been thinking about our last conversation… What you said about not being sure you can handle the baby not being yours… About the acceptance letter to Juilliard…”

“And?”

“You’re too young to be dealing with these issues. Too young to sacrifice your life—”

Archie did pull away then. “I’m not sacrificing anything. I was just venting, Geraldine.”

“Because you can’t vent to her,” she said. “She doesn’t understand.”

Archie could neither agree nor disagree. The truth was he hadn’t even tried. He’d taken his role as Betty’s rock a bit too seriously and now all of his misgivings were trapped inside of his chest like a bottle rocket.

“You’re right,” he said. “I should speak to her.”

“Or you could speak to me—”

“I have to go.” Archie shouldered his bag and stood. “You have enough food? Water?”

“Yes, but—”

“Alright. I’ll see you next week.”

Once he was back in the jalopy—driving a dirt path out of the dim forest—the wheels in the back of his head began to turn. He missed the street which would’ve taken him home in favor of continuing onward. He didn’t know exactly where he was headed, but he kept driving. Past Pop’s. Past the town hall. Until he entered the parking lot of Riverdale PD.

.+.

Fred came home at half past three to a full house. Alice, Betty, Polly and Veronica were staked out in the kitchen, stirring soups and making salads and listening to Alice’s small town gossip about a woman named Angela who left her husband of twenty-five years for the coach of her daughter’s softball team. Outside, the boys were teaching Juniper and Dagwood how to play corn hole without much success. Juniper only wanted to make snow angels and Dagwood kept trying to tear open the bags of corn.

Alice greeted him in the living room. “Hello, honey.” She wrinkled her nose after giving him a kiss. “Oh, you smell of gas. Go wash up. Dinner should be ready around five.”

“Alright.” Fred nodded toward the man sitting on his couch. “FP.”

“Fred.”

“Who’s winning?”

“Giants,” said FP.

“Of course.”

“Go, go,” Alice said, shooing him. “You can catch the game when you come back down.”

She watched him until he reached the top of the stairs; and, as Alice watched Fred, _FP_ watched _her_. She dropped her shoulders and sighed.

“Got any beers?” he asked, grinning.

Alice rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

.+.

The sun was setting. Betty could feel the humid August air sticking to her neck. She passed by a vocal Jack Russell terrier, yapping in someone’s front yard, then one of those makeshift libraries where the sign says _Take a book_. _Leave a book_. She doubled back, in no hurry to be home. Archie was working late. Again.

The swelling in Betty’s ankles had gone down in the time it took her to walk the neighborhood three times. Her belly was finally beginning to feel like a true weight, pulling down her abdomen.

As she flipped through the pages of a book about dealing with grief, a growling engine grew louder in the distance. She glanced up and watched as a motorcycle turned the corner at the end of the block.

That motorcycle looked familiar. _Was it Jug?_

But then the bike came to a stop in front of the Cooper house and the woman seated on the back climbed off. She was wearing black leather pants, a skin-tight jacket, and a helmet with the visor down. Still, Betty knew from the way she moved…

Her mother took off her helmet and smiled at the man still seated on the motorcycle. Once he’d removed his helmet as well, Betty could see it was FP. Jughead’s father. Alice leaned over and kissed him—quick, on the lips—then stationed the helmet in a basket at the rear of the bike. 

FP cranked the motorcycle. Angling her body behind the small library, Betty brought the book in her hands up to cover her face. He rode past, oblivious.

On her way back to the house, Betty cycled through the first two stages of grief. Denial. _She’s not… She wouldn’t._ But the kiss was indisputable. Then, anger. _How could she?_ _What an absolute fucking bitch._ Unfortunately, Betty was unable reach the bargaining stage, nor depression or acceptance.

Slamming the front door shut behind her, she yelled: “Mom! Where are you?”

“One second, Elizabeth! I’m getting dressed!”

Betty took the stairs two at a time. When she walked into her mother’s bedroom, Alice stood half-naked before the mirror, in only her bra and those leather pants.

“Elizabeth!”

As calmly as she was capable, Betty asked, “What was that?”

“What was what?” Alice grabbed a robe from her closet and wrapped it tightly around herself.

“Why did you kiss FP?”

“Elizabeth.” Alice shook her head. “What are you talking about—?”

“ _I saw you, Mom._ ” Betty wouldn’t allow her to slither her way out of this one. She wouldn’t submit herself to being gaslit; not when she’d seen the evidence with her own eyes. “You kissed him.”

“Hold on. Just wait—”

“You have _a husband_.”

Alice loosed a long breath. “I do.”

“What? Are you cheating on Fred now?” Betty stepped further into the room. “Are you?”

Alice held up her hands. “Just give me a second to explain.”

“I’m waiting.”

Alice clutched her own face. “I don’t know exactly how this happened… FP came to me… He said he needed my help. He needed _me._ ” Her mother shrugged and her eyes took on a shiny, wet look. “He was trying to go to AA, you know? Clean up his life. He just needed someone—”

“In his bed?” Betty replied.

“It’s not like that!” her mother cried.

“So you haven’t slept with him?”

Alice turned her gaze to the floor.

“ _Mom_ ,” Betty sighed.

“It was just one time,” Alice said.

“Are you going to leave Fred?”

Her mother stepped closer. She appeared as though she wanted to reach out and grab Betty. For once, she had fear in her eyes. “I can’t.”

“You have to tell him,” said Betty.

“ _I can’t, Elizabeth._ ” Tears tracked mascara down her mother’s face. “He’ll leave me. I know he will.”

Betty refrained from saying what her mother could surely see in her gaze: She _deserved_ to be left.

“Promise me you won’t tell him. _Please_ , Elizabeth.” Alice laid a hand on her arm. “ _Please._ ”

Betty shook her head. “It’s not right—”

“I’ll support you and Archie and the baby. Princeton or no Princeton. I’m sorry I said anything about an abortion. I’m sorry I—” Alice choked on her own sob. “I’m sorry I took you to that prison. To see _him_. I’m sorry I ever hurt you, Elizabeth.”

Betty locked her jaw and tried to move past how much she’d always wanted her mother to say those words. “It’s not right.”

“Please don’t punish me. Please, please.”

Tears of her own wet her cheeks. “Get off me.”

“Elizabeth—!”

Betty ripped herself out of her mother’s grip. She ran down the stairs and out of the house. When she was finally back home, she glanced down at her arm to inspect the nail marks—red crescents—her mother had left in her arm.

.+.

“ _Dinner is served._ ” Alice stepped back from the table to admire her handiwork, as everyone else sat down to eat.

“Everything looks beautiful, Alice.” Veronica draped a white tablecloth over her lap. “Truly.”

“Thank you, Veronica.” Alice smoothed her white dress and sank down onto the seat next to Fred.

Fake garlands hung from the chandelier above. Real holly flowered between the place settings. Ivory plates gleamed. Crystal glasses glittered. Besides the golden turkey, plump and set in the center like a prize, every imaginable fixing was given a place at the table.

Juniper and Dagwood were relegated to sitting on the laps of Archie and Betty, respectively, but everyone else managed to fit without giving up too much of their personal space.

“Pass the potatoes,” Jughead said, holding out his hand.

“Manners, boy.” FP handed the bowl to Veronica, who then passed off to Jughead. “How are you, doll? It’s been a while.”

Veronica swept her hair over one shoulder. “I’m well. Thank you.”

“This one spent almost every day of the summer at my house.” FP grinned. “Used to come home to the trailer smelling like Chanel No. 5—”

“Dad.” Jughead met his father’s eye.

“Alright,” FP said. “Guess I misspoke…”

“They’re young,” said Alice, loading Fred’s plate with a small portion of each food. “They’re embarrassed about everything.”

“You should be embarrassed about some things,” said Betty, ripping off a bite-sized piece of bread roll for Dagwood.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Veronica cocked her head.

“Nothing.” Betty pursed her lips. “Nevermind.”

“What’s in this salad, Mom?” Polly asked.

“ _Walnuts._ ”

“Do squirrels eat walnuts, Archie?” Juniper glanced back at his face as she waited for an answer to her question.

“I imagine they do, Junebug. All kinds of nuts. Peanuts. Walnuts.”

“What about almonds?” Jughead asked.

“What about almonds, Archie?” Juniper parroted.

“Almonds are probably too expensive for most squirrels.”

Betty chuckled under her breath. “I bet California squirrels eat all the almonds they want.”

“What are _almonds_?” Dagwood asked.

The whole table erupted into laughter. A skin of formality seemed to peel off of the evening then. Conversations broke out between different groups. Before long, they were all talking over each other. After about half an hour, Betty overheard her mother speaking to Veronica across the table.

“It’s been hard. I’ve just had to accept she doesn’t know _what_ she wants. At one point, I thought I knew. I really did. Ivy league, journalism, travel. Now? It’s marriage and a baby, except they’re separated for whatever reason. It’s impossible to keep up. I don’t even try anymore.”

“You’ve never tried,” Betty said.

The table grew quiet. Alice paused in the middle of a sip of wine. “Excuse me?”

“You have _never_ tried to understand what _I_ want.”

Alice set down her wine glass. “Okay, Elizabeth.”

“You haven’t.”

Her mother nodded. “Tonight isn’t about you. Okay?”

“I know it isn’t about me.” Betty glanced around the table. “You’re the one who decided to invite the man you’re having an affair with to dinner _on Christmas_ and yet I’m the one who doesn’t know what I want?”

A small, involuntary sound left Alice’s mouth. Sort of like a whimper.

“Betty.” Archie’s eyebrows were raised. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” Betty stopped Dagwood from knocking over one of the lit candles on the table. “It’s true.”

Alice turned to her husband. “Fred. This is just a display of vengefulness and nothing more. I swear to you—”

“I already knew,” said Fred. His tone of voice was soft. Placating, even. “I already knew.”

Alice drew back. “Since when?”

“Yesterday.” He looked into her eyes and nearly smiled. “I checked the credit card bill.”

“Fred. Honey.”

“I wasn’t going to do this today. Or tomorrow.” He was already standing up. His tablecloth dropped to the floor. “But I was going to. Eventually.”

“Wait.” Betty’s mother made to follow him.

“It’s over, Alice. We had our second chance… Now, it’s done.”

Fred walked out of the dining room with his head held high. Despite what he’d said, Alice still went chasing after him.

“You knew?” Archie squinted at Betty. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Betty set Dagwood onto his mother’s lap, then pushed away from the table. “I knew,” she said. “And I didn’t tell you.”

.+.

When Archie came home from the police station, he knew without a doubt he had to come clean. There was no Dave Gibson on the force. There wasn’t an Alec Gibson. There wasn’t even a Jessica Gibson. There never had been. Only Geraldine Grundy existed in the system.

She was playing a strange game.

Betty sat by the window, staring out over the lawn. The record player scratched out the sultry voice of Bettye Swann on ‘Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye’ from the corner of their room.

_If you must go, baby, I won’t grieve._

_But just wait a lifetime before you leave_.

A thread of apprehension pulled at him and, to set himself at ease, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her for a long time before even saying anything. She leaned back into him and he felt the tension drain out of her body.

“I missed you.”

He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “What were you thinking about?”

“How many times I used to look through my window into this room hoping to see you.” Betty laughed. “You’re my husband now and I’m still embarrassed.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Archie said, smiling. “I did the same thing.”

Betty tilted her head back. “You did?”

“Sure.” He came around and knelt on the ground in front of her. “I need to talk to you.”

His voice must’ve alerted her to the seriousness of the topic, because the humor left her gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…” Archie swallowed. “Last month, Grundy came to my job.”

Betty nodded and waited for him to continue.

“She was bruised… Beat up real bad. Said her ex-husband had found her… He’d hurt her. Said she needed my help.”

Betty’s face changed. Her eyebrows drew down over her eyes. “And?”

“And… I’ve been helping her,” Archie said.

“Helping her how?”

“She needed a safe place to go. Somewhere he couldn’t find her. So, I took her to the bunker. I’ve been helping her to change her name and sell her house. Start again, essentially.”

Betty nodded. “For a month?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I—” Archie paused. “I don’t know. I don’t have an excuse.”

“Then why are you telling me now?” Betty ran her eyes down his body. “What’s changed?”

“Everything,” he said. “I don’t think… I don’t think she’s been telling me the truth.”

Archie explained the Alec and Dave mix-up, his visit to the police station, the lack of a Jessica Gibson.

“Why would she invent an entire marriage, Arch?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

“She would’ve had to give herself the black eye, as well.”

“Can’t imagine…”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll have to confront her with what I know.”

“And if she insists she’s telling the truth?”

“Then I can’t help her anymore.”

Betty was pleased at his response. “Right.”

He took up her hand and ran a single finger along her palm. “I should’ve been honest with you sooner. I thought I was doing something good. I didn’t want to jeopardize her safety—”

“ _Hey._ ” Betty placed her face within an inch of his. “I know.”

“You’re not upset?”

“That you tried to help someone?” She smiled. “Who do you think I am?”

Archie lurched forward and picked her up off of the chair. Betty squealed with childish delight. He deposited her onto the bed and climbed on top. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she said, running her hands through his hair. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Archie leaned down and captured her lips in a slow, purposeful kiss. “You’re going to be an amazing mother, Betts.”

“How do you know?” she whispered.

“Well, for one, I watched you with your cabbage patch dolls. They were incredibly well taken care of. You even color coordinated their shirts with their shoes. As a second grader, I could barely do that for myself.”

Betty huffed a laugh. “They were dolls, Arch.”

“You’ve also taken care of me.” He kissed the smooth skin of her neck. “All these years.”

“It’s been…” Betty bared her neck to his ministrations. “ _My pleasure._ ”

The sex was astronomical. Far beyond what pre-pregnant Betty could’ve ever imagined. They moved with one body and one mind, yoked together by love and by the life they’d created together. Then fell asleep in one another’s arms.

Betty would’ve slept until morning, except Archie’s phone kept going off. She was closest to the nightstand. Rolling over, she switched the phone onto _silent_. His lock screen was filled with unopen messaged. All from the same person. 

_Grundy._

Betty glanced over at Archie. He was still sleeping. Quiet as she could, she placed her feet on the floor and went out into the hallway. Then, the bathroom across the hall.

She knew his passcode. It was her birthday. His phone _clicked_ open and suddenly she could see what had been said.

**Grundy**

Thanks for the heater.

Better already.

**Grundy**

I do want to talk to you…

I think you know about what.

**Grundy**

She’s holding you back.

**Grundy**

If you could talk to her about

the baby, you would have already.

**Grundy**

Juilliard is your future.

Music is your future, Archibald.

**Grundy**

We can make that happen. Together.

**Grundy**

Call me.

Betty pressed _call_.

After three rings, a groggy female voice answered the phone. “Archie?”

“No,” said Betty. “It’s his wife. We need to talk.”

.+.

When Jughead came out onto the back porch, Veronica was already there, smoking a cigarette.

“Since when do you smoke?”

She turned her head to the side and light from the sliding glass doors bounced off of her hair in the dark. “I’ve been smoking since I was thirteen. At Columbia, that’s all we do. Smoke and talk about foreign affairs. Smoke and talk about politics. Smoke and make fun of people walking by.”

“Sounds monotonous. Can I?” Jughead held out his hand.

Veronica stuck the lit cigarette between his fingertips. “It is.”

“Why don’t we ever hang out?”

“You know why.”

“It’s nice, though.” He took a drag. “When we’re together, it’s nice.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Veronica said, gazing up at the stars. “His name is Maxwell. He’s on track for an MBA and his father owns a soccer team.”

Jughead smiled. “I wasn’t aware you were a fan of soccer.”

“I’m not.” She snatched back the cigarette. “He’s available. That’s what I like about him.”

“And I’m not available?”

“I never said anything about you.”

Jughead met her eye. “Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?”

“I had a train to catch.” _And you would’ve said something to make me stay._ _And I would’ve. Stayed._

“I thought we had something good,” he said. “I thought, by the end of summer—”

“We’d what? Be a couple?” Veronica shook her head. “Then, when Betty had her baby, I’d happily give up another boyfriend who’s in love with someone else?”

“No, I—”

“Thanks but no thanks.” Veronica dropped her cigarette onto the wooden floor and used her heel to stomp out the lit end. “Not interested.”

Jughead kept his feelings to himself. “Noted.”

“I leave tomorrow.” She threw her shoulders back. Her gaze was anywhere but his. “I’ll spend the day with Smithers, then take the night train.”

“Why not stay until New Years?”

“There’s nothing else here for me, Jones.”

Jughead thought to object, but Veronica was right. Who knew what would happen when the baby was born? She deserved a Maxwell. She deserved more than whatever he could think to say in _this_ moment, when his only other thought was of making her stay. 

.+.

“Betty.” Grundy’s voice was dry. For a music teacher, she didn’t sound very _melodious_. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I’ve just heard about you.”

“He told you…?”

Her heart was like a jackhammer, chipping away at the space behind her chest, creating a cavity. “Told me what?”

Grundy was quiet for a moment. “About us.”

Betty pulled the phone away from her ear because she thought she might be about to wretch. When she returned, Grundy was in the middle of speaking.

“—so kind. I didn’t approach him with the expectation of anything happening. It just turned out that way. Old feelings resurface, you know?”

Air was caught in Betty’s throat. She couldn’t speak.

“We’re able to speak to each other quite honestly. That’s rare, I’ve found. He told me about how the thought of the baby being someone else’s just _kills him_. As well, he never expected to actually be _accepted_ to Juilliard. Let alone offered a partial scholarship. I mean—” 

Her hearing went in and out, eclipsed by the sound of metal walls collapsing. The fortress of steel she’d always felt surrounded her and Archie’s love was falling. Piece by piece.

“—when he kissed me, I was shocked. It was so sudden.”

The line fell silent again.

“You’re lying,” Betty said, suddenly.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s the one who told me these things. He said he was going to speak to you about how he felt. I’m guessing he hasn’t?”

Betty wasn’t sure whether to hang up or ask questions. In the end, she said: “We should meet.”

“We should,” said Grundy.

.+.

When Fred descended the staircase with his suitcase in one hand and his coat in the other, Betty and Archie were waiting in the living room, seated on opposite ends of the couch.

“Dad,” Archie said, standing up. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stay in a hotel,” said Fred. “Until we can speak about how to move forward.”

“Stay with us,” Betty said, coming to join the two. “It’s Christmas Eve. All the hotels will be booked.”

“I’ve already called ahead to a B&B in Bristol. I’ll drive up and spend tomorrow in the mountains. It’s what I want.”

“Then, I’ll come with you.” Archie nodded succinctly. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Neither should Betty.” Fred rested a hand on Archie’s shoulder. “Your son’s almost here. You’re not going anywhere.”

Archie swallowed the knot in his throat and took the case from his father’s grip. “I’ll carry this out.”

Fred and Betty followed behind.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done what I did at the table—”

“Sweetheart.” Fred wrapped an arm around her. “I’ll be alright.”

Betty nodded. Her tear ducts pinched. “You saved my life once, you know?”

Fred smiled as he helped her down the front steps. “I did?”

“Yeah.” Betty blinked and the tears fled down her face. “I was lost once. It was snowing and I was _so cold_ I could’ve died.” As Archie popped the trunk to his father’s car, she met Fred’s eye. “But I had the hand warmers you gave me in my pockets. Without those, I wouldn’t have lasted until Archie found me.”

Fred kissed her forehead. “Take care of yourself, Betty.”

“I will.”

He released her in order to hug his own son. Archie’s eyes were red. He buried his face into his father’s neck. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Not your fault, son. I’ll see you in a few days.”

They watched as Fred climbed into his car and drove off down the street. They watched until he turned the corner at the top of the block and his headlights disappeared.

“I can’t go back in that house,” Betty said.

“Me either.”

Both began walking toward their own house. Archie stopped on the porch and said, “Go on inside. I need a minute.”

“Are we going to talk?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We are.”

He waited until she’d slipped inside, then sank onto one of the lawn chairs they’d place out here for nights like these. Every other house on the block had their Christmas lights shining. Theirs were off.

The snow on the road had flattened into a sheet of glossy, black ice. Dangerous, nearly invisible, he only knew it was there because of the way the light reflected off of the surface. Following the eccentric patterns of radiance, his eyes alighted upon the orange exterior of a hatchback.

Archie sat up.

It was _her_ car.

Using speed he hadn’t used since football camp, he vaulted off of the porch, trudged through the snow-filled yard, and skidded across the icy street to reach the parked vehicle. He used his arm to clear slush from the windshield, then peered inside.

Empty.

He went around to the back and checked the license plate. Definitely her car.

“ _Archie! Arch!_ ”

Betty was calling his name. He turned back toward the house but, before he could go to her, the garage window exploded. Yellow flames flickered inside.

“Betty!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might also be late. My idea to upload these on three consecutive days was *stellar* and would've gone off without a hitch (if I'd written them before hand). I want to spend quality time with my family, but I'll also be writing. Expect the next chapter in 24-48 hours. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! 
> 
> xx CreativeBuzz


	3. Winter Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one.

**August**

The drive to the bunker took longer than usual. Her mind addled with doubts, Betty kept missing turnoffs and driving down dead end roads. Grundy was a liar—the story about her “ex-husband” had proved as much—but there was an inkling of truth in what she’d said over the phone last night.

Betty needed to know if Archie was truly happy or if he was only pretending to be.

Pulling up fifteen minutes after their agreed upon meeting time and parking next to an orange hatchback, Betty clutched her purse to her side. She’d brought pepper spray, just in case.

Grundy was waiting in the tunnel when she climbed down. “Betty,” she greeted.

“Mrs. Grundy.” Plopping her tennis shoes onto the wet concrete, she followed the older woman into the bunker.

Betty hadn’t been back here since sophomore year. Nothing had changed. Not the tally marks they’d painted with their fingers to count how many times Jug lost his head talking about an idea for a new novel. Not the black lace frill on the lamp from when Veronica had tried to “spruce up the place.” Not the crack in the wooden table from when Archie fell over during a game of Twister. Everything had stayed the same. This place was _their_ place—the four of them, as friends. The sight of Grundy, their high school teacher, sitting on the bed, felt like a violation. The first of many, Betty suspected.

“Have a seat.” Grundy held her hand out towards a chair. “You must be exhausted.”

Objecting to Grundy’s magnanimity, Betty settled onto the hard metal. “I’m fine.”

“Five months, right?”

Betty breathed deep, into her belly, and nodded.

“Pregnancy suits you. There’s a glow to your skin. I remember when I was pregnant—”

“You have a child?”

Grundy blinked. She appeared to almost _glitch_. “No.”

“Oh.”

“It was a good time, though. I’m sorry to have to ruin it.”

Betty sat up straighter in the chair. “What do you mean?”

“You came here for answers. I’ll tell you everything I know. Ask away.”

Grundy performed a delicate gesture then—brushed a strand of hair behind her ear—and Betty took a moment to _look_ at the woman. She was slender. Her bones protruded at the elbows and knees. Dark hair, dark brows. Large eyes and a long neck. She was the opposite of Betty.

“I want to know what’s been said.”

Grundy raised an eyebrow. “Not what’s been done?”

“I don’t believe… No. I just want to know what’s been said.” Betty hesitated to reveal what Archie knew about Grundy’s backstory. If she was caught out in a lie, best she be left unaware, so as not to have an opportunity to develop a new story. “He’s been accepted to Juilliard?”

“Yes. Into the Vocal Arts program, on a partial scholarship. Those aren’t given out lightly,” Grundy said, assuming an air of superior knowledge.

“When did he tell you?”

“He received the letter in July. I’d been down here for a week.” Grundy pursed her lips. “How long has he known you?”

Betty could’ve laughed at Grundy’s thinly veiled hostility, but there was a chance the laughter would devolve into tears and she couldn’t risk that. “Since we were kids.”

“That’s a long time,” the woman said, smiling.

“Did he say anything about how he felt?”

“Of course.” Grundy’s eyes glazed over as she cast her mind back in time. “He was excited to have been accepted, but the excitement was subdued. You see, Juilliard doesn’t allow deferments and the probability of being accepted again is low.”

Betty nodded. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“I was offered a place at Princeton.”

“ _Ah,_ ” Grundy groaned. “Smart girl… But it’s a bit different for him, isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“Imagine sacrificing your dreams to take care of a baby which isn’t even yours.”

The breath fled Betty’s lungs. “He said those words?”

“No. But the circumstance must’ve played on his mind.”

Betty squeezed her eyes shut.

“We can stop, if you want. I don’t have to tell you anything else.”

“ _What else is there?_ ” Betty seethed.

“The kiss.”

When she opened her eyes again, Grundy was studying her face with obvious pleasure. “It’s clear you’re dying to. Go ahead.”

“I only want you to have the facts. And, the fact is, Archie and I shared something real once upon a time.”

Those iconic fairytale words were sounding like the introduction to a horror story now. “When he was your student?” Betty asked. “A _fourteen-year old_ freshman?”

Grundy’s nostrils flared. “Just goes to show how real it was. We couldn’t wait.”

“How did it happen, then?” Betty tilted her head. Grundy wasn’t the only one who could study body language. “Who kissed who?”

“We kissed each other.”

“When?”

“Nearly two weeks ago.” Grundy crossed her arms.

“And how was it?”

“Good,” she said. “He did that thing he always does. The thing I missed while I was away.”

“What’s that?”

“He scratched my scalp.”

Betty tried and failed to keep a poker face. Archie did do that. Sometimes, when he was caught up in a kiss, he would slide his hand into her hair and use the pads of his fingers to rub her scalp.

“ _Okay_ ,” Betty sighed, picking herself up from the chair.

“You believe me?” Grundy stood as well.

“I don’t know.” She needed to speak to her husband.

“Look, Betty… Love is complicated. I’m sure he still cares for you, in his own way, and that’s why he’s allowing himself to be held back from his full potential.”

Betty could feel herself about to explode. “ _Hmm._ ”

“If you love him, you should let him go.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“You’re welcome.”

.+.

**December 24 th **

The house was dark when Betty entered. A bath was on her mind—with salts and candles—but she would wait until she’d spoken to Archie. She’d hurt him by withholding her knowledge of the affair. She needed to explain herself.

The timeline of events was so cluttered—so _convoluted_ —it nearly defied explanation. He’d come home and told her about Grundy the same day she’d discovered Alice. _She said she needed my help_. Betty would have to draw a line between his words and those of her mother’s about FP. She would need to give him a map of all the places she’d been in her own mind while trying to escape the possibility of his betraying her. And, finally, she would have to be honest about how good it felt to have her own secrets.

Betty paused by the door to the garage. The thought to turn on the Christmas lights had occurred to her. Arch was out there, sitting in the dark. Perhaps, he would see them light up and know she was thinking of him.

The hinges on the door squealed as she pressed it open. Flipping the switch on the nearest wall, florescent light flooded the space.

Betty gasped.

Grundy was sitting on the tattered couch they kept in the corner. As cold as the garage was, she wore only a white dress. No shoes, no socks, no jacket. She glanced up at Betty and said: “Hello.”

“Hi.” Betty placed a hand underneath her stomach. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to speak to you. Everything’s gotten so… _Bad._ ”

Her phone was… At Alice’s house. “Do you want to come in?” Betty asked, thinking of the house phone they kept in the kitchen. “It’s cold.”

“Is it?” Grundy asked, standing up from the couch. A cloth tote bag with the words ‘I LOVE WINE’ printed on the front hung from her thin shoulder. “I have something for you.”

“Why don’t we go inside?”

Grundy reached into the bag and pulled out a small wooden box. “Here.”

Betty took a tentative step down the stairs. “What is it?”

“It’s a music box,” said Grundy. “And an apology.”

She stepped onto the concrete floor. “For?”

“Interfering. Causing trouble. I really thought… I really thought he loved me.” Grundy sniffled. Her nose was red. “I guess not… But he does love music. Your baby should as well.”

Betty still felt a visceral energy threading through the air. Grundy held out the box. Betty took hold of the contraption. For its small size, it was surprisingly hefty. The sides were branded with musical notations and words like _contralto_ and _crescendo_.

“Thank you.”

“There’s a crank on the side. Spin it a few times and music will play.”

“Okay.”

“Try it,” Grundy said, watching her closely. “Go on.”

“I will,” said Betty. “Inside.”

“Try it now. I want to know if you like it.”

Betty swallowed the lump in her throat and cranked the box’s golden handle three times. A dainty melody began emanating from the box. “What is this?”

“ _Clair de Lune_.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?”

The look in Grundy’s eyes was depraved. Like a starving wolf at the end of a winter, slinking through the forest in search of wounded prey. As the song wound down, the feeling of something being wrong ratcheted up. Betty faltered. Then, at the last possible second, she threw the box away from her. It landed underneath the Deville.

“Archie! _Arch!_ ” Betty screamed as she turned her body away. She crouched down and covered her ears.

Behind her, the garage exploded.

.+.

A week later, Archie returned to the bunker bearing his suspicions. He’d had a background check run on Geraldine Grundy. The name had existed for thirty-two years and belong to the woman he knew. She’d been born in Phoenix, Arizona and had never been married.

When he entered, she was sitting on the floor, playing chess with herself. “Hey,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Hey.” Archie sat down on the bed. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.” Grundy moved one of her chess pieces. “What’s on your mind?”

“Something you said last week…” He sighed. “It didn’t sit right with me.”

“Me either. I shouldn’t have pushed you as hard as I did—”

“No.” Archie shook his head. “It wasn’t that. You, _uh_ —You called your husband Dave.”

Grundy nodded. “And?”

“And when we talked about him four years ago, you said his name was _Alec_.”

Her eyes flickered around the room. “Yes, well… His first name is Alec, but his middle name is David. Everyone used to call him Dave. I must’ve—”

“I looked him up, Geraldine. There are no police officers on the east coast named Alec Gibson.”

“You _what?_ ” Grundy pushed away the chess board and scrambled onto her feet. “Why would you do that? You don’t trust me?”

“It’s been a long time since I knew you and something didn’t feel right. I had a background check run on Jessica Gibson—”

“Archie,” Grundy reproached him.

“And she doesn’t exist.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She shook her head. “You know me. You saw what he did to me—”

“I saw a black eye,” Archie interjected. “That’s all I saw.”

“I can’t believe this. Did Betty put these ideas into your head?”

“Betty?” Archie leaned back on the bed. “No. Betty has nothing to do with this.”

“So she didn’t tell you to run a background check on me?” Grundy scoffed. “She is a _smart_ girl.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We spoke. Last week… She seemed upset about us. What we have.”

“Wait.” _Us?_ Archie squinted as processed the information. “Betty was _here?_ ”

“She wanted to know how you’d been feeling. I thought, since you couldn’t tell her, I would.” Grundy came over and sat next to him. She placed her hands over top of his. “She needed to know about Juilliard and your reservations about the baby and us—”

“There is no _us_ , Geraldine.” Archie couldn’t move away quickly enough. His mind scrubbed over the previous week. Betty’s reticence, her reclusiveness, the look in her eyes when he caught her staring at him—she’d been sitting on this for days. “What did you tell her?”

“Just that you’d been offered a _once in a lifetime_ opportunity and she was holding you back. As well, the idea of saying no to Juilliard just to raise someone else’s child—”

“The baby could be _mine_ , Geraldine.”

“But what if it’s not? What then?”

“Then we’ll deal.”

“By then, Juilliard will be lost to you.”

“I’d rather lose Juilliard than lose Betty.” _I’d rather lose my life_. “You need to leave. You can’t stay here anymore.”

“I didn’t lie, Archibald. I do need your help,” she said.

“The most I can do is drive you to a facility where you can get the help you need.”

Grundy laughed. The sound came from her belly, deep, yet mirthless. “I’m not crazy, Archie.”

“I didn’t say you were, but you do need help. Help I can’t give.” He took up his keys. “If you’re still here tomorrow, I’ll take you to whichever facility you decide.”

“Don’t leave!” she called, as he turned toward the tunnel.

Archie didn’t stop.

.+.

“Betty!” He stood at the threshold, unsure of whether to go left or take the stairs. “Betty!”

Smoke clogged the air. In a split second decision, he decided to head straight for the garage. If she was upstairs, she was safe; and either way, he needed to put out the fire.

When he opened the door, a wall of black smoke billowed out and smacked him in the face. His eyes leaked from the corners. He brought his shirt up to cover his mouth and descended into the room. The Deville was enveloped in fire. It was clear to him the gas tank hadn’t exploded. _Yet_.

A lump of red was curled up next to the freezer. It wasn’t moving.

“Betty!”

As Archie ran across the room, the Deville began spitting flames and sparking. There wasn’t much time. He turned Betty over, onto her back. Her eyes were closed. He pressed two fingers against her neck and felt a thready pulse.

“Wake up,” he said, sliding his arms underneath her body. “God, _please._ ”

Betty’s eyes slid open halfway. Groggily, she asked: “Arch?”

“I’m here,” he said, walking swiftly towards the door. “You’re alright.”

Betty broke into a coughing fit. The dry, hacking sound made his knees weak. He ferried her to the porch and set her down onto one of the chairs. When she had her breath back, she croaked, “Grundy. Still… There.”

Archie nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

Sprinting, he went back through the front door. A layer of smoke now loomed above his head, steadily creeping down the ceiling. Archie kept low and slipped back into the garage. Wavering bands of heat altered his vision and, for almost a minute, he searched fruitlessly for Grundy.

Just when he thought to give up, he heard a small cough underneath the crackling. Archie went over to the couch and glanced behind. There she was, curled up into a ball. He reached down and grabbed her by the hand.

“No!” She tore herself from his grasp. “Leave me here!”

“I’m not leaving you here, Geraldine. We have to go. _Now._ Give me your hand!”

“NO.” The woman buried her face into her arms. 

Archie shoved down his distress and, grabbing her by the shoulders, hauled her off of the ground. She struggled. Eventually, he had his arms around her in a bear hold and was carrying her stiff form across the concrete.

“Let me go!”

“You’re not dying today.”

They reached the door. Just as he went to step over the jamb, a massive force of heat hit his back. He heard the explosion and he felt himself going down. The last thing he remembered was tucking a hand beneath Grundy’s head before they hit the floor and the indescribable pain of his clothes burning against his back. 

.+.

She was in the kitchen, washing dishes when he came home. Archie didn’t waste any time. As soon as he’d kissed her, he stuck his hands into the warm, soapy water and started scrubbing dishes. “You met with Grundy,” he said.

Betty dunked a plate into the side of the sink with clean water. “I did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I needed to think.”

“Betty, I don’t know what she told you—”

“Listen.” She used a terry cloth to pat the plate dry. “Please.”

“Okay.”

Betty placed the dish onto the rack. “I’m going to repeat some of the things she told me and you’re going to say whether they’re true or not. All I need is a simple yes or no.”

Archie handed her the bowl he’d just finished cleaning. “Okay, but—”

“Yes or no, Arch.”

“Alright.” He nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“You received an acceptance letter to Juilliard in July.”

“Yes.”

“With a partial scholarship.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not okay with the idea of the baby being Jughead’s?”

Archie hesitated. “It’s not that I’m not—”

“Yes or no.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Betty.”

“ _Yes?_ Or _no?_ ”

Archie looked up and out of the window over the sink. From his vantage point, he could see the spot in the Cooper backyard where he and Betty used to catch snails. Underneath a beech tree, where—even in the summer—the shade kept them cool, they’d raised their _snail family_.

“Not completely,” he said, still staring at that spot. “No.”

“You would feel bad having given up the opportunity to attend Juilliard in order to stay here and take care of another man’s child.”

“I didn’t say that. I’ve _never_ said that.”

Betty nodded as she dunked the bowl. “You haven’t said much of anything.”

“I’ve been keeping things to myself, that’s true. Trying to be what you need—”

“I didn’t need you to be okay with everything.” Betty tried pulling back the raw emotions sneaking into her words—tried to speak with detached logic instead—but that was easier said than done. “If you’d been honest, I could have told you I was struggling too. With the idea of the baby being Jug’s. With giving up Princeton.”

Archie glanced over at her. “If you weren’t worrying already, I didn’t want to be the reason why you started.”

“I wasn’t worried about you, Arch.” Betty set the bowl down on the rack. “Not about you… Because I knew we had each other.”

“ _Have_ each other,” he insisted. “Betty. Look at me.”

She placed her hands onto the edge of the sink. “I’m worried now, Arch.”

“ _Why?_ ” He leaned down to catch her eye. “Because I was confused? Because I was scared of life changing and I didn’t know how to tell you—?”

“Because you’ve lied,” she said, meeting his eye. “The Archie I know wouldn’t do that. Not to me.”

Archie reached across the metaphoric barrier she’d placed between their bodies and took her wet hands into his. When she was facing him, he said, with resolute certainty: “ _I did not lie to you_.”

Betty jerked her hands away. “You kept things to yourself which should’ve been shared.” She went over to the table, sat down. “It was a lie of omission, Arch.”

“Well then I didn’t _mean_ to lie to you, Betty.” Coming over, he crouched down next to her chair. “I just didn’t have the words.”

Betty turned her blue eyes onto his. There was knowing there. “You’re not happy, are you?”

“I am, Betts. _I am,_ ” Archie said, imploring. “You make me happy. _Our life_ makes me happy.”

“You can’t hide things from me, Arch.” He’d been wearing a hardhat earlier; she could tell by the way his hair laid. Betty brought her hand up to run her fingers through his flat curls. “It’s written all over your face.”

“This life we’re getting ready to live,” Archie explained. “We have no idea what it’s going to look like.” 

“That’s true. We don’t.”

“If the baby is Jughead’s, he’s going to be in our lives _forever_. Weighing in on every decision. Coming over every holiday.” _Trying to get you back_ , Archie didn’t say. “It’ll be the three of us, instead of us two.”

Betty nodded.

“If we ever want to move, he’ll have a say and he could say no. Both of us might vote against him, but the thing is: My vote won’t count.”

“Yes, it will.”

“No, Betty. Not as much as yours and not as much as his. That’s just the way it’ll be and that’s fair. It’s just _hard_.”

She tugged at his ear. “I know.”

Archie felt his chest tighten. The weight he’d been carrying all summer was flowing out and the rush was painful in its immediacy.

“I go to work,” he said, “and every day I’m confronted again by how much I don’t want to be my father. I love him and I respect him, but… I don’t want his life.”

“What _do_ you want?” Betty asked, still stroking his hair with tenderness.

“I want you.” He put his head onto her lap.

“What else?”

“I want our child to be _ours_.”

“What else?”

Archie hesitated.

“It’s okay, Arch. You can tell me.”

“I want Juilliard,” he said lowly.

“And I want Princeton,” Betty said, sighing. “I want our baby to be ours. I want to _never_ become my mother… But I think right now, most of all, I want to be left alone.”

Archie lifted himself off of her lap. “Betty—”

“I need to think about this. About what to do.”

“There’s nothing _to do_ ,” he said. “I just need to get my head on straight and—”

“No.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “No, Arch. Keep wanting what you want. Like you said: _You should have whatever you want_.” Betty rose from her chair. “Dinner’s in the frig.”

She left him there, on his knees, in the kitchen.

.+.

There was a blaring horn. Flashing red lights. People talking in code. Betty couldn’t speak or even open her eyes, but she felt her body being moved. Poked. Prodded. 

“O2 at 75. Pupils bilaterally dilated. Rapidness of breath.”

“Give O2 at 55. Have you checked her throat?”

“Not yet.”

Betty felt her jaw being pried open.

“There’s soot on the lining of her esophagus.”

“If her O2 isn’t up to 90 by the time we’re at Memorial, we’ll intubate.”

The blaring horn was a _siren_. In the darkness behind her own eyelids, Betty struggled to regain control of herself.

“Hey, Jim.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s _wetness._ ”

“What?”

“I think her water might’ve just broken.”

Jim sighed. “Check her pulse.”

Something pressed into Betty’s wrist. “Elevated.”

“Great.”

.+.

**November**

Her leaving had come as a shock. Archie came home from work one evening and her shoes weren’t by the door. He _knew_ something was wrong. Even so, he kept onward, ignoring the feeling. Maybe she’d gone for a walk. Maybe she was next door.

When he was out of his work clothes and showered, he texted her.

**Archie**

Hey! Where are you?

Within seconds, she sent back:

**Betts**

Mom’s.

Archie tugged his shoes back on and jogged over to the Cooper household. He knocked three times and Betty opened the door. She wore jean overalls and a white t-shirt. Her face was red.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You okay?”

“I’m okay.” She still hadn’t move away from the door. “I’ve made a decision.”

“About?”

“About us.”

Archie could feel the back of his neck sweating. “Okay…”

“I’m going to stay here,” she said. “For a while.”

Suppressing his initial reaction in favor of a milder one was difficult. “How long is a while?”

“Until the baby is born—”

Archie was already shaking his head. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” said Betty.

“Where is this coming from?”

It’d been months since their candid conversation in the kitchen. _Months_ since she’d said she needed time to think. And they’d been moving on, happily, since then. To the point where Archie could almost forget the massive elephant sitting in the room with them.

“You know where, Arch.” Betty lowered her gaze. “When we married, we were under intense pressure.”

“Betty—” He didn’t think he could survive her saying their marriage was a mistake.

“We married because we wanted the opportunity to make our own choices. We wanted to be free.” Her chin quivered. “Grundy was right,” she said. “I’m holding you back.”

“No, you’re not,” he argued. “You never have.”

“There’s a reason why you thought you couldn’t tell me. Think about it, Arch.” Betty lifted her gaze. In the light of sunset, wearing those overalls, she resembled the eleven-year-old version of herself. “You were scared.”

“I was scared.”

“Of me.”

“Of how you would react.”

“Have I ever given you a reason to think I wouldn’t understand?”

Archie shook his head. “No.”

“I was hurt— _deeply_ —that you were able to express those feelings to Grundy and not to me. And I was hurt— _deeply_ —to hear about those same feelings from her. I’m particularly hurt that you’re still seeing her.”

“What?” said Archie. “I’m not.”

“I drove by your job last week. Her car was in the parking lot.”

His eyes widened. “Betty, I swear—”

“Did you kiss her?”

“ _No!_ ” He held out his hands. “Where is this coming from?”

“She said you two had something. That you’d kissed her and rubbed her scalp…” Betty bit her lip. “I didn’t believe her at the time.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Betts. You know me. You know how much I love you—”

“We started this relationship by cheating on other people, Arch. It’s not outside the realm of possibility—”

“ _Bullshit._ I’ve been in love with you since the second grade.”

“So, Grundy? Veronica? They were—”

“ _Not you_ , Betty.” Archie wasn’t sure whether to reach out or hold his ground. “We should talk more. I think there a few misconceptions about what’s happened—”

“We can talk after the baby is born. Until then, you should think about what you want.”

“Betty. Betty, wait.”

“I’m sorry.” She was closing the door. “I am.”

.+.

**December 25 th**

When she opened her eyes, blinding fluorescents cascaded upward in a gravity defying river.

“Someone’s awake?”

Betty could hear the dull rotary of wheels. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Washington Memorial Hospital, sweetheart.”

“What’s happening?”

“You were brought in for smoke inhalation about fifteen minutes ago. Fortunately, or unfortunately, your water broke in the ambulance. The soot in your lungs is causing inflammation, the inflammation is causing stress and the stress is causing baby to be _not so happy._ So you’ve been scheduled for a caesarian.” A nurse with blonde hair and plump cheeks leaned over her face. “Looks like you’re having a Christmas baby.”

“Wait.” Betty tried to sit up and couldn’t. She felt as though someone were sitting on her chest. “My husband. My—Archie, where is he?”

“ _Archie?_ ” the nurse asked. “What’s the last name?”

“Andrews. Archibald Andrews.”

“I’ll check for you, honey. There was an ambulance that arrived right after yours. Two individuals, both with burns.”

Betty squeezed her eyes shut. “ _God._ ”

A beeping sound she hadn’t noticed before began increasing in speed.

“Calm down, honey. You’re gonna be alright.” The nurse rolled her through a set of doors. “I’m gonna be with you the whole way. You’re not alone.”

Betty nodded, even though she wasn’t scared for herself. She was scared because memories of tonight were slowly coming back. The music box. Grundy. Archie running back inside.

The nurse stationed her in a dark room with a single table underneath a bright light.

“One, two, three.”

Several hands lifted Betty’s body onto the operating table. The blonde woman sat down on a chair beside her head and held her hand.

“You’ve already been given the epidural. William, our anesthesiologist, is going to give you some gas, which will help calm you. As well, there’ll be some oxygen in there. Okay?”

Betty nodded.

“Come on, Mama. Speak to me. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes,” Betty croaked. The sound of her own voice—scratchy and dry—startled her.

“Good. My name’s Alice. Your doctor today is Dr. Mura. When she takes your baby out, she’s going to hand them to me. I’m going to clean them up a bit and then I’ll hand them to you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Betty breathed. “My mother’s name is Alice.”

“Really?” The nurse laughed. “It was meant to be, you and me! I bet she wishes she could be here right now instead of me.”

If Betty could’ve laughed, she would have.

“You ready for the gas?”

“Yes.”

Alice placed a clear mask over her mouth and nose. “Breathe deep for me, honey… Good job. One more time… Good.”

Betty felt her muscles go limp. A hazy smile dawned across her face.

“Feel good?”

Betty bobbed her head.

“Alright,” Alice said. “Here comes Dr. Mura.”

The next twenty minutes were quiet. Betty faded in and out of alertness. The medical professionals spoke to each other, occasionally; and sometimes Alice would whisper, “Nearly there,” in her ear.

Betty heard a sound like metal sheers cutting through a hedge and suddenly Alice wasn’t by her side anymore. When she turned her head to the side, the nurse was leaning over a table. There was another sound—this one more ambiguous—which resembled a light _smack._

Then the world burst open. A high-pitched cry split Betty right down the middle.

Her baby was crying.

Alice came over and placed a bundle onto Betty’s chest. Though her arms were heavy with fatigue, she brought them up to cradle the purple-faced, squirming infant. The crying ceded into low murmuring.

“Say hello to your mommy, little guy.”

Betty glanced up at Alice. “It’s a boy?”

“It is,” she said, smiling.

Betty held him to her, right over her heart. “Hello.”

He kept his eyes closed. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

.+.

The week after Thanksgiving, Archie went into town to buy Christmas presents. He was early, but he’d rather be early than late. He’d picked up a fly fishing kit for his father, expensive candles for Alice, a pretend doctor kit for Juniper, a blow-up boxing bag for Dagwood, and a book about spiritual transcendentalism for Polly.

Which just left Betty.

Normally, he’d know exactly what to buy her: a new journal, a gothic novel, fuzzy socks, a painting by a local artist, etc. Except, this year, her present was more than just a present.

It had to be.

He was walking along Downey Street before he realized where he was headed.

 _Heavenly Trinkets_.

Archie stood outside the window, peering through the glass at an assortment of sparkling pieces, but his eyes searched for a particular engagement ring he’d seen months and months ago. As he searched, a light dusting of snow began to fall. He couldn’t find the ring among the display.

The bell above the door _rang_ as he entered. A hunched, elderly man came from behind the counter. “How can I help you?”

“I saw a ring in the case earlier this year. It was a pearl set into a silver band with—”

“Round cut diamonds encircling?” The man nodded. “It was put behind the counter. Come on.”

Archie breathed a sigh. “Thank you.”

“Who’s this piece going to then? Your girlfriend?”

“My wife, actually.”

“You’re married?” the man asked, glancing back at him.

“I am.”

“Younger and younger these days,” the man muttered, pulling open the door to the glass case beneath the counter. “This is a vintage ring from the forties. One of my personal favorites. You have a good eye. Most go for the square cut diamonds, bulky and glitzy. I hope your woman will like this one. It’s classic.”

“Me too,” said Archie. “Me too.”

.+.

Betty was awake, listening to him make noises with his mouth, when her mother entered with Jughead.

“Elizabeth.” Her mother rushed over and pressed her cheek against the top of her head. “I was so worried.”

“You were?”

“When they put you in the ambulance, you weren’t speaking or moving.”

“Where’s Arch? Is he okay?”

Neither her mother nor Jughead answered immediately. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“He’s in surgery,” said Jughead. “He had some burns on his back and smoke inhalation, like you.”

“Is he okay? When is he—?”

“He’ll be okay, Betty. They should be finished in the next hour or two,” said Alice. “Right now, you need to speak to the police. They’re outside.”

“What? Why?”

“The house burnt down, Betty. They said there was a _bomb_ found in the garage.”

Betty nodded. “Can you take him? Jughead?”

Jughead’s eyebrows raised. “Me?”

“He may or may not be yours. You might want to get used to holding him.”

“It’s a boy?” Alice huffed. “Well…”

“Mom, tell the police they can come in.”

As Alice left, Jughead approached. “How do I?”

“One hand behind the head… Yeah, exactly.”

The baby looked unbelievably tiny in his arms.

“Wow.” Jughead blinked.

“What is it?”

“He’s beautiful.” He blinked several times in a row. A rogue tear slipped down his face but, with both of his hands occupied, he couldn’t wipe the wetness away.

“He is,” said Betty.

She told the police what she knew about Grundy—the fake husband, the black eye, her showing up in the garage all of a sudden. They asked her to describe the music box in detail and she tried her best to recall the mechanisms of the bomb. When she was gone, they thanked her and went on their way.

“That woman is crazy,” said Alice.

“I don’t think she is. I don’t know what’s happened to her,” Betty said, remembering the look in Grundy’s eyes when she spoke about being pregnant once. “But she’s been through something.”

“She tried to kill you, Betty.”

“And nearly succeeded,” Jughead added.

“I know.” Betty reached for her baby and Jughead laid him back onto her chest. “I just don’t think she’s crazy, is all.”

.+.

His back felt like it had been lashed with acid-soaked chains. They kept him in the burn unit for what felt like hours.

“ _Someone!_ ” Archie croaked. “ _Anyone!_ ”

He heard feet approach on his other side, but couldn’t turn his head. “What’s up? You alright, sweetheart?”

“No,” said Archie. “I need to know if my wife is okay. Her name is Betty—Elizabeth.”

“Are you Archie?” the voice asked. “Archibald Andrews?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s me.”

“Your girl was asking about you when she came in. She came out of surgery two hours ago. C-section.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. So is your son.”

“It’s a boy?”

“It’s a boy.”

Archie buried his face into the pillow for a moment. When he came back up, he said: “Can you take me to them?”

“Not right now. You need to stay isolated until your burns are wrapped. You’re lucky you don’t need a graft.”

“How long?” he asked. “Until I can see them?”

“Six to twelve hours, at least. Your wounds need to breathe, then we can apply the medicated salve and bandages. If we do so now, the irritation would be severe—”

“Just do it,” he said. “I give you permission.”

“No can do. It’s not medically advisable. Don’t worry,” the nurse said. “You’ll see your family soon.”

.+.

At half past six, the nurse wheeled him into Betty’s hospital room. Archie still couldn’t lift his head, but the way she positioned his bed allowed him to view both Betty and the clear-sided basinet holding the baby. In the corner behind him, Alice was nestled in an armchair. All three were asleep.

“I’ll leave you here. Mind you, I’ll be back at midnight to take you to the burn unit. You need your bandages changed every few hours.”

“Okay.” His eyes never wavered from Betty’s face.

“Congratulations,” Alice said. “And Merry Christmas.”

The nurse left the room.

“ _Betty._ ”

She turned her head, but her eyes remained closed.

“ _Betty,_ ” Archie whispered.

“ _Hmm?_ ” She squinted at him. “Arch?”

“Betty.”

“I was so scared,” she said, reaching out her hand.

Archie stretched his hand out, as well. Alice had done good to place them within touching distance. Even so, the sharp sting of disturbing his back made him cry out. The pain dissolved as soon as he felt her fingers. “I was, too.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Her eyes shifted over to the bassinet. “It’s a boy.”

“I heard.” Archie squeezed her hand. “What should we call him?”

Betty met his eye. At the same time, they both said: “ _Walt._ ”

“Walt it is.” Archie strained his neck trying to catch a good glimpse of the infant. “What’s he look like?”

“Perfect,” Betty breathed. “My mom said he looks like you, but it’s too early to tell. He has not one strand of hair. _Not one_.”

Archie chuckled. The mention of the baby looking like him reminded him— “Where’s Jughead?”

“He left. Said he had somewhere to be.”

“He left?” Archie felt his face scrunch. “Before the paternity results?”

“We got the results, Arch. An hour ago.”

He tensed and scorching pain radiating down his back. “Look, Betty… I just have to say—it doesn’t matter. Either way, I will love you and I will love him. With my whole heart. With everything. I’ll show you how serious I am. Because the thought of losing you, or him…” His throat was thick with passion. “I can’t. You’re everything.”

“I believe you.”

“Good.”

“But, just so you know… He’s yours, Arch.” 

“He’s—”

“Your son. _Our son_ ,” Betty said, grinning her teeth at him.

Archie made a noise of triumph which was part _shout_ and part _howl_.

“Arch!” Betty was laughing.

“Sorry.”

They both looked over at the baby resting peacefully between them. _Their Christmas baby._ He stayed sleeping.

“I love you,” Archie said. “Both of you.”

Betty squeezed his hand. “I love you, too.”

.+.

Jughead arrived at the train station at 6:35. Her train to New York was set to leave at 6:40. He stood amidst bustling families bundled in winter coats, fast walking businessmen in suits, and station staff in uniform.

“ _6:40 train to Penn Station is now boarding. Please have your ticket waiting to be scanned_ ,” said a woman over the loud speaker.

Jughead rose onto the tips of his toes to look over the crowd. At the end of the terminal, travelers were flocking through Gate B. He thought he saw the back of a familiar head.

“ _Veronica!_ ” Jughead slipped his beanie off and began navigating through people. “Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me. Sorry. _Veronica!_ ”

When he reached Gate B and scanned along the side of the train, she wasn’t anywhere to be found. Had she already boarded?

“Jughead?”

He spun around and there she was.

Smithers stood beside her, holding her luggage. “Ms. Lodge.”

“It’s alright, Smithers. Give me a second.” Veronica approached him with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Betty had her baby,” he said, breathing fast.

“ _Okay._ And?”

“And Archie’s house burned down and Grundy might’ve tried to kill both of them and a ton of other stuff happened—”

“ _What?_ ”

“But the baby’s not mine.”

Veronica nodded. “Is that what you came to tell me?”

“Yes. I mean… Partially, yes. But also…” Jughead took a step closer. “I came to tell you I like you.”

Veronica lifted a single eyebrow.

“I realized I never told you how I felt and that was stupid. It was really stupid—”

“Jughead—”

“Because I’m not in love with Betty. I haven’t been for a while. And it took me standing in that hospital room and staring down at her baby to realize… I didn’t want him to be mine.”

“They had a boy?” Veronica asked, peering up at him.

“Yeah.”

“ _Last call for 6:40 train to Penn Station_.”

“I need to board my train, Jug.” Veronica signaled to Smithers, who walked forward to join her. “I can’t stay.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Jughead pulled out his phone and showed her the screen. It was a ticket for the 6:40 train to Penn Station. “I’m coming with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t think of any other way I’d want to spend the next three hours than talking to you. Because I think we’re both missing something in New York. Because I know now the reason we don’t hang out is because we’re a forgone conclusion and we’re both too stubborn to admit it. And finally, because I don’t think you actually like soccer.”

A begrudging smile pulled at Veronica’s lips. “I do like soccer.”

“Not as much as you like me,” he said.

She laughed.

“ _Doors closing for 6:40 train to Penn Station_.”

“If you’re coming, then come on!” She grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”

.+.

**One Year Later**

Grundy was given twelve years in a low-security mental rehabilitation center. Archie had been advised not to see her, but Betty went once. They’d had a lovely conversation which had confirmed Betty’s hypothesis: The woman wasn’t crazy. She’d merely been sick. She’d never been married, but she’d lost a baby. Stillborn. Betty wasn’t excusing anything she’d done, but she’d long since forgiven the woman and moved on.

Fred gifted them a portion of the insurance money from the house to buy a place of their own, wherever they wanted. They chose a town called Edison on the outskirts of New Jersey. The interesting thing about Edison was its position smackdab in the middle of both Juilliard and Princeton. Only a thirty-minute drive to either school.

The first six months had been hard. Raising a new born in an unfamiliar town—while Archie tried to find work and Betty finished her second semester of school online—wasn’t easy. There were nights when Walt couldn’t sleep and they would have to take turns sitting up with him. There were mornings when Betty nearly fell asleep in her cereal and Archie went to work at the record shop with his shirt on backwards.

Still, they made life work. The little joys—when Walt first laughed, when he sat up by himself, when he slept through the night—made up for the constant exhaustion.

Spring came and they both received letters in the mail. Archie had been accepted to Juilliard again. Although, this time, without a partial scholarship. Betty received a rejection to Princeton. Which, admittedly, stung. However, she also received an acceptance to Rutgers. The interesting thing about Rutgers was its position only five minutes away from Edison.

Alice agreed to pay for her education using funds she and Hal had set aside for the girls, while Archie worked all summer to be able to afford his tuition.

The fall had been difficult. For the first time, Betty had to leave Walt at daycare. She picked him up at the same time every day after class and he was always delighted to see her, but leaving him there required immense strength of will. Which is why their first Christmas meant so much to her. They were both off from school for three weeks. Archie drove to a tree farm in the next town over and brought back a ten-foot evergreen they could barely fit through the front door. The tree towered in their tiny living room.

The night of Walt’s first birthday, they lit a fire in the fireplace and sat on the floor with him.

“Happy birthday!” Betty lifted Walt’s shirt and blew air onto his stomach. “Happy birthday!”

He giggled and waited for her to do it again.

“Happy… _Birthday_!”

His squeals of happiness were enough to make them both laugh.

“Will you play us something?” Betty asked, turning to Archie.

“Sure.” He took up his guitar from beside the fireplace. “What would you like to hear?”

“Walt’s Song.”

Archie smiled. “Of course.”

He’d written Walt’s Song halfway through his first semester at Juilliard. He’d wanted to test the concepts he was learning and make a lullaby for when Walt was up at night and couldn’t sleep. When he’d played it for Betty the first time, she couldn’t stop crying.

His fingers plucked the strings faster than she could see, creating a complex harmony. Walt settled down immediately, recognizing the familiar sound of his father’s music.

_“Heaven knows, he found a way._

_Came like a storm and blew us away._

_Must’ve been dreaming the other day_

_‘cause I thought I heard him say—_

_‘Come on, Dad. Love her good._

_Treat her kind just like you should._

_Give all you’ve got to be understood_

_and I know you’ll find a way.’”_

Betty couldn’t help herself. She was crying before the end of the song.

“ _I said, ‘Listen son, I’ll do my best._

_You’re here now, so I know we’re blessed._

_Go to sleep and get some rest_

_‘cause your Dad will find a way.”_

Walt was closing his eyes. Betty brushed back his single tuft of golden hair and marveled at how her life had become what she’d seen in her dream, only better.

“Happy birthday, son.” Archie set his guitar back by the fireplace and took Betty's hand in his. Her pearl ring glowed with light from the fire. “Merry Christmas, Betts.”

“Merry Christmas, Arch.”

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don't know what else to say. (Except: Our ship better be endgame. Come on Season Five!) 
> 
> Love,
> 
> CreativeBuzz

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this addition to the WAAH universe. If so, don’t hesitate to reach out on Tumblr (@newasskid) or Twitter (@creativebuzz3). I’ll be posting fun, extraneous content (like a Spotify playlist for this series) there as well. 
> 
> See you tomorrow!


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